


Changing Your Stars: A Dwarf's Tale

by Wizards_Pupil



Category: A Knight's Tale (2001), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A Knights Tale, AU, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Bilbo, Bottom Thorin, Fluff, Friendship, Honor, Jousting, Long Journeys, M/M, Racism, Romance, Smut, Swordfighting, Tournaments, Violence, medieval times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-07
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-07 21:20:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 44,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1124528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wizards_Pupil/pseuds/Wizards_Pupil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Looking back, Thorin could tell it had been a bit absurd to think any of it could actually work. It was a plan with a very small chance of success and certainty of death. Of course, that's why they had all decided to do it. Thorin would find his family a home, even if he had to pass himself off as a human to do so. </p><p>He simply wished there didn't have to be so many elves about.</p><p>A Hobbit Story loosely based off of the movie 'A Knights Tale.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. We're Doing What?

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Changez vos étoiles : un conte nain](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6578182) by [Eivia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eivia/pseuds/Eivia)



> I have no idea where this came from. I just decided that the movie 'A Knights Tale' would be an awesome theme for a Hobbit story and this just kind of happened. I regret nothing. All the cast will appear in one way or another. It's Thorin/Bilbo and I'll see where the ships go from there :) (Let me know of who you'd like to see together!)

 

_Far over the misty mountains cold_

_To dungeons deep, and caverns old_

_We must away ere break of day_

_To seek the pale enchanted gold._

_\-----oOoOoOo-----_

 

"Well, you're not going to like this, but… He's dead, Thorin." Balin flicked the ornamental helmet's visor back down over the face that was too pale and sat back on his haunches to regard Thorin. Thorin was incapable of returning the gaze of his oldest friend and adviser because returning the gaze would mean it was actually happening and Thorin was not ready to admit it was happening. Not yet.

He brought his grubby hand to his hair and scratched at his hair distractedly for a moment. He must have looked quite a sight, covered in dirt, dung, sick and blood as he was, but Thorin couldn’t give it a care.

Bert was dead, and with him any chance he and his three dwarrows had of returning home with food. Of returning home period. Four dwarrows marked as being in servitude and without a master was not a sight that was allowed free travel. They would be arrested and kept until Bert’s children came for them. If they were lucky.

Balin stood up slowly and dusted his dirty hands off on his equally dirty breeches. Ordinarily Thorin would have offered consolation for the careful surgeon getting messy, but Thorin was still frozen in horror.

They were going to starve. They were going to be cast aside and treated as vagabonds-if they weren't accused of murdering their former Lord and Master. He needed a plan, and quickly.

"Hey, I found the extra-why is he leaning against a tree instead of sitting on his horse?" Fíli came up the path from the nearby village as he spoke and stopped short in front of the deceased Human with a pronounced frown. Kíli, his brother, collided into him at the unexpected stop. "Sir, you've only got ten minutes before you're called to the field." Desperation flooded Thorin’s senses at the sight of his sister’s sons.

"Fíli," Balin sighed, dusting off his hands, "He's not going anywhere he's-ummph!" Thorin surged forward and clamped a hand over Balin's mouth as another figure came from the village. The regal Elf walked extremely stiffly across the dirt path. He eyed the four dwarrows and the deceased Human with obvious disdain, despite the fact that he didn't move one muscle on his blank face. It was impressive how expressive the Elves could make their eyes. They also just seemed to radiate annoyance around Dwarrows.

Of course, Thorin couldn't say the sentiment wasn't returned. Tenfold.

"When might we expect Lord Bert? He has only ten minutes before he must forfeit the match."

"He'll be there!" Thorin insisted quickly. The elf narrowed his eyes and Thorin continued, inclining his head respectively. He could feel Balin working his mouth furiously under his hand but he steadfastly ignored the wet sensation and stepped on his foot to make him still. "Sir, he shall arrive on time. I'm afraid he's had a bit of trouble with his armor. It needs loosening before he can move." Thorin bowed his head in respect even though it made his stomach turn violently. He hated elves. They were the ones responsible for his peoples status. Them and their overly virtuous, self-important, flower loving, tree hugging selves!

The Elf, oblivious to Balin's dismay and Thorin's hate, raised an eyebrow. "Indeed." He regarded Bert for one more moment before turning. "I shall look for him in precisely ten minutes." The Elf scurried away. Balin, tired of being restrained by Thorin, bit the hand covering his mouth.

"Ow! Balin!" Thorin grumbled as he shook his hand and glowered at the old dwarf. Balin matched his gaze and raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Someone mind telling us what's going on?" Kíli inquired remarkably patiently as Thorin, with one last glare at Balin slipped next to their dead master, Bert. This would not be pleasant, but Thorin didn't know what else there was to do. He wasn't going to let them starve.

"All right, you're telling me what's up in a moment." Balin turned to Fíli and Kíli, who were now tapping their feet impatiently. Kíli's shaggy brown hair was falling in his eyes and he moved it away with a well-practiced flick of his head. Fíli's hair was respectably braided back. " Bert died." Balin said blandly.

Fíli blinked once, twice, three times before responding. "I'm sorry?"

"Bert is dead, done, finished, deceased. His spirit has gone but his stench remains."

"He can't be dead." Kíli took a small, tentative step towards the very deceased Human that Thorin was methodically pulling the armor off of. Balin grumbled behind him.

"Sorry, there's nothing I can do. This human is dead." Balin redirected his attention to Thorin, ignoring Fíli and Kíli's protest about not having eaten in three days so Bard had to be alive because they needed to eat. "And what do you think you're doing, Laddie?"

"I'm removing his armor. Surely one so wise as yourself can tell that." Thorin rumbled, removing the vambrace with a frown of distaste. He was well acquainted with this armor. It was always his job to dress the overweight knight. It wasn't a task he terribly relished. Especially since he could always feel his masters unflinching gaze on him whenever he bent to fasten the chausses. He had no desire to know what the old man had imagined him doing from that position.

"Laddie, stop."

"He's dead, he hardly needs it." Thorin retorted. He freed the last vambrace and went to work on the hauberk that Bert always insisted on.

It was true that he was being extremely cold about their now dead master, but serving had never been his style. Or his choice, really. The elves had always insisted the Dwarrows serve the humans and elves, since the wars. None of his people had any rights as they weren't thought of all that much more highly than Dogs. Even Wargs were treated better than most Dwarrows. While Bert had never been outstandingly cruel, Thorin saw no reason to waste tears on someone who thought he was only good for manual labor. He had also made several advances that made Thorin want to stab him with his practice sword. If only the blade had not been so dull.

It was also not that surprising that Bert had died. That's what happened when Humans who were far too old to be competing did compete. Their hearts gave out.

"What in Mahal's name are you doing, Thorin?" Thorin had successfully pulled off all the human's armor and was now proceeding to put it on his own body. It was a bit long, but not overly so. Bert had always been a rather short human, and Thorin was a tall dwarf. Stuffing Bert's socks and scarves into the bottom of the shoes also made it so he appear taller and reach the stirrups. Now the more noticeable problem was that Bert had been considerably fatter than Thorin.

"Come on, Balin. Surely you can see what I'm doing? I intend to ride in his place."

"Will that actually work?" Fíli asked, stepping over to Thorin and helping him adjust the cowter on his shoulder. Kíli gave an uncaring shrug and joined Fíli on Thorin's other side. His nephews made quick work of the rest of the fastenings.

Balin was still staring at him with a furrowed brow. It was a full thirty seconds before he finally responded.

"What are you saying, Laddie?"

Thorin stared straight into Balin's eyes while Fíli pulled his long, dark hair back. "I'm going to joust in his place."

"Well that's madness."

"Probably." Thorin was completely undeterred as he fastened the braces. He valued Balin's opinion above all others, but he would not sit by while they starved. Not when there was a possible means of salvation at his fingertips. The risk did not matter. Not when the punishment would only fall on him should they be caught. "Yet we cannot eat until we have the money to eat. Money we will only get if Bert wins this match. Therefore, I'm jousting. Pass me that helmet?"

"What's your name?" Balin asked, making no move for the helmet sitting at his feet. Thorin huffed and moved forward to get it only to be stopped by Fíli tightening his hands around Thorin's hair.

"Ouch," Thorin complained, rubbing at his head. Fíli knocked his hand away.

"None of that. I've got to braid all of this back or they'll see it. Bert's hair is-"

"Was." Kíli corrected.

"Was, gray, not black."

"I asked what your name was, Laddie?"

Thorin, to his own annoyance, let out a frustrated huff. "Thorin, Son of Thrain."

"Exactly, you've no last name which means you are neither Human or Elf. You cannot fight."

"I can fight, I am not allowed to fight." Thorin corrected. "There is quite a difference. No man has more courage than I. With that helmet," He pointed to the shining silver at Balin's feet, "I can fight, for none would know my true heritage."

"You're too thin." Kíli lamented.

"The lad's right. If you can't fit the build, the helmet will not aid."

"Kíli, I require your shirt." Fíli said simply, letting go of Thorin's now braided hair. It was to Kíli's credit that he didn't question his brothers demand. He merely removed the shirt and passed it to him. Fíli then proceeded to bunch it up and shove it under Thorin's hauberk. He stepped back and examined his handy work with a tilted head.

"That may actually work." Balin admitted with a huff. He bent down slowly and picked the helmet off before dusting it off with his grubby sleeve. He peered down at it before looking up at Thorin. "Should they remove it, we will be unable to protect you." Balin said softly. Thorin nodded his head and reached for the helmet.

"I would not ask you too." He said simply. He took the helmet only to have Kíli yank it away.

"What if you have to take it off?" He demanded, a slightly panicked look in his eyes.

"Then," Fíli said, taking the helmet away from his brother's manic grip, "Uncle makes up an excuse." He proceeded to fasten the helmet on and swiftly hide Thorin's hair away. "Any strands loose?" He asked aloud. Balin shook his head.

"You know they'll kill you for this, right?" He finally asked heavily. Thorin gave his head a decisive nod.

"Which is why they shall not find out." He pulled the visor down and rolled his neck. He was a bit constricted in his movements do to the ill-fitting armor, but it was manageable. The real trick would be getting on the horse. Thankfully, Thorin had always been unusually tall for a dwarf.

"All you have to do is stay on the horse." Kíli whispered quietly, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Thorin couldn't help but notice how much his ribs were sticking out. He steeled his back and stood straighter.

"Indeed?" Balin asked in surprise. Fíli nodded his head.

"Yeah, I couldn't believe the old man managed to break two lances either."

Thorin took the lance up. "Now, Balin, dispose of the body, just stick it in the bushes over there, and come to the stands like Fíli and I usually do. No one will suspect a thing. They're not looking for anything suspicious. So, if we don't let on that there is anything suspicious occurring, they have no reason to suspect us. We get away with the prize and we get to eat. The plan is full proof."

It was anything but, but the dwarrows were too polite to say so.

Thorin turned and strode off towards the field where his horse waited. Thankfully Thorin was the large beast's handler so Beorn was used to him. The animal actually liked Thorin. (Which was quite unusual for Dwarrows, but under the circumstances Thorin wasn't about to complain.)

"Alright, let's just get in and out." Thorin could hear Balin muttered as he led Beorn to the starting point. Elion, Thorin's rival, mounted his own beast and rode to the starting point. Fíli handed Thorin his lance while Elion's Dwarf, Dain? Handed him his lance.

"Challengers at the start!" The rude elf that had informed the four dwarrow of their ten minutes stood at the center of the field. "On my mark, ride!" The elf raised a ridiculously large flag, and then swung it down, signifying the start of the match before he ran off the field. Thorin urged Beorn forward and gripped the unwieldy Lance as tightly as he could. He brought his knees tight around Beorn's side and grit his teeth. He needed only to stay on the horse. He locked eyes with the oncoming human and gripped Beorn's reigns more tightly.

Three…

Two…

One…

The impact was louder than he anticipated. The lance's connected against each other and the following shower of splinters had Thorin frantically closing his eyes as he was overcome with vertigo. He gripped his legs around Beorn all the tighter and willed his body not to move. A crushing pain vibrated through his nose and head followed by the distinct sound of cheers. He dropped what was left of his lance and brought the other hand to grab at Beorn's mane. The horse whinnied in annoyance but didn't shake his hold.

Hands grabbed at his arms and chest before pulling him from the horses back. He recognized Fíli and Kíli's scent, followed quickly by their voices.

"You've won, you've won!"

"Easy," Thorin growled, vaguely aware that his voice sounded odd. He could hardly breathe and he tasted blood. "Bert has won countless times."

Fíli instantly stepped back but Kíli kept a hand on his arm. Which was just as well, Thorin couldn't see out of his helmet and he had the strangest feeling that it wasn't pressing against his face properly. Before he quite knew what he was about, the rude elf was presenting him with a gold leaf for his victory.

How like an elf to make the prize so impractical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off! Leave a review, pretty please?
> 
> Yes, I did turn one of the trolls into their former master. He was the only one I could think of for the roll. :)
> 
> Info/ translations:
> 
> Dwarrows= plural of dwarf
> 
> cowter= it's a piece of armor that goes on the shoulder
> 
> vambracer = a piece of armor that goes over the wrist
> 
> chausses = pant armor
> 
> hauberk = chain maille shirt


	2. This is Our Plan?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we get a familiar face this chapter, though he won't stick too close to the movie. 
> 
> Thank you all for the kudos and comments last chapter, they were greatly appreciated!

 

_“Even the smallest person can change the course of the future.”_

_-Galadriel_

\-----oOoOoOo-----

 

_“Can I be a knight?”_

_"You work hard enough, my son, and you can be a knight."_

_"That's a laugh! You might as well change the stars!" The gruff old dwarf knocked a thirty year old Thorin aside and snickered at his Father, Thrain. Thrain picked Thorin back_ _up and brushed off his shoulder with warm, calloused hands._

_"Don't listen to them, Thorin. Don't listen to any of them. If a dwarf works hard enough he can do anything. He can even change his stars."_  


That was one of the last conversations Thorin had with his father. He'd been bought by Lord Bert’s grandfather shortly after it. He’d been forced from his homeland of Erebor and taken to the miserably small, yet overpopulated town of Bree. He missed the mountains of his birth more keenly than any human ever could. The mountains were part of who his people were. They were made to tend to the stone, and they were deprived of it with a fierce vigilance.

Now, over a hundred and fifty years later Bert was dead and Thorin was once again free. He'd even gotten the human's armor.

It was not enough. It would never be enough while his people-his family-starved in this wretched world. They were a mighty people, they should never have been brought so lowly.

"I. Hate. Elves." Kíli grounded the words out as he dropped a pile of cloth items on the floor. Balin paid him very little attention as he gathered up their meager belongings. Fíli was tending to Beorn and Thorin was attempting to keep his nose from bleeding again. The lance’s blow had distorted his helmet against his head, breaking his nose in the process. It had had the advantage of rendering him incapable of removing his helmet when the lord Elves had asked him to remove his helmet, so Thorin considered the broken nose a small price to pay.

"What happened?" He inquired thickly. Kíli still wasn’t wearing a shirt.

"They only gave us fifteen silver pieces for that weird leaf thing. It was worth at least three times that." He huffed and picked up one of the blankets before folding it and rolling it up.

"It's because you're a dwarf." Balin said flippantly. “Thorin, don’t tilt your head back.” Thorin corrected his head and Balin went on as if he’d never stopped. “They don't think you can really own such a thing." He set down a shirt he'd been folding. "You're lucky they didn't accuse you of just stealing." He looked at Kíli properly for the first time and huffed.

“By Mahal! You’re not even wearing a shirt. It’s a wonder you fetched a price at all.” He picked up the shirt he’d just folded and tossed it at the young dwarf. “Put this on. By my beard, it’s a wonder I haven’t gone mad yet.” Fíli made his way over to the group and grabbed a blanket to fold up for their pack.

Thorin ignored the quiet bickering of the dwarrows and thought on all that had happened. He’d won a jousting tournament and none had suspected his true nature. He had played a sport he enjoyed and provided food for those he loved. Aside from a bloody nose, he was unscathed. He would know what to expect in the future and not be caught on the face by the lance again.

But, instead of using this new knowledge and his natural ability, they were all just sitting there divvying up the possessions that Bert had brought to the match. None of them would return to the deceased human's manor. The minute they arrived without Bert they'd be accused of killing the elder. No one would believe that the old man had just keeled over. No, they couldn't head there.

His family was once again homeless. Again they had been driven from their home by the unfairness of their society.

Thorin would take it no more.

The plan he was forming was insane, with very little chance of success and almost certain death. Still, if it did work, they'd be rich and no one would be any the wiser. He could do more than feed his small family.

He could change their very stars.

"Valar save us, you're plotting again." Balin's clipped voice drew Thorin out of the revere he'd unknowingly fallen into. He realized he had been buffing the same spot on Lord Bert's armor for the last ten minutes. Thorin gave his mentor a mischievous grin and nodded his head.

"Yes, I am." Kíli plopped down onto the ground and crossed his long legs before attending to Bert’s tent.

"What about?" Balin inquired, not one to be distracted by anything once he was suspicious. It was one of the things Thorin liked best about the older dwarf. They'd met on his first day at Bert’s manor. Thorin had been assigned to muck up the horses' stable and he'd gotten lost on the way. He ran into Balin who was trying to help a cow give birth.

That was not a sight Thorin would ever forget. Nor one he would ever care to repeat.

Balin had been elbow deep in the cow and completely covered in gunk. He'd given Thorin, the scrawny, tousled hair dwarf he was, one look and shook his head. "Step back," he'd ordered with a grunt as he reached further in. "If you get too close, I can't promise you won’t come away a mess." Thorin had gotten closer and then messier than he’d thought possible, but a great friendship had been born out of it.

“We could do this." Balin wrinkled his brow in confusion and Fíli looked up in mild curiosity.

"What? Fold? Sorry to disillusion you, lad, but we already are." Balin informed him before grabbing another raggedy tunic and carefully rolling it up. It made Thorin’s chest tighten to acknowledge that they had to be careful with such a pathetic piece of clothing because it was pretty much all they had. They should be living as kings. They should be clothed in precious jewels and the finest silk. They were tradesmen, and Thorin still remembered the stories his grandfather had told him about the time before the war. Before Dwarrows had become little more than property.

The shirt that Kíli held was all he had. Fíli had no more that that, and his was ripped. It was all either of them had ever had. He knew it intimately, he had roomed with his nephews since the Bard family had bought them from his sister.

He’d sworn to take care of them and he could not even afford a half decent shirt for either one. His sister had been sold to traders on their way to Gondor and he had not heard from her in fifty years. He wondered if she had fared well. That was the lot of Dwarrows. Families were broken and sold to different corners of the world. Balin himself had a brother he had not seen since they were lads. Thorin was fortunate beyond measure that he had his nephews near. Yet they still half-starved under his gaze, and he was helpless to aid them.

They needed to change their stars. They all did. And Thorin finally knew away he could do it.

"No, not fold. We can already do that. I mean we can do this," he lifted the helmet he'd been buffing to emphasize his point.

"Thorin," Balin said slowly while Kíli and Fíli continued to look confused, "you're not serious."

It wasn't a question. It was Balin telling Thorin that he was crazy if he was serious. It was Balin telling Thorin that he would not let him be serious.

As if Balin had ever been able to stop him.

"I am serious, Balin. We received fifteen pieces of silver off that leaf. We could get to Rivendell on that."

"Thorin-"

Thorin held up his hand to silence him before he could start listing the reasons why it was a bad idea. Thorin was already aware of them all. “Hear me out. We have the required equipment. In Rivendell they would not know me from any other knight. I can joust, and there is no better with the sword than I. Against all fate these items have come to us with none other aware.” Thorin dropped his gaze to the helmet in his hands. “With a bit of luck and courage, and willing hearts,” he stared at each of his three dwarfs, “we can change our stars.”

“Thorin-“

Thorin softened his gaze and relaxed his grip on the helmet. “Balin, all the days I have lived in servitude you have been my guardian. Allow me the same honor now.”

Balin sighed long and tired. He gave his head the tiniest shake before peering at Thorin with eyes that sparkled. “Oh, Laddie. I fear we may live to regret this.”

“Wait,” Kíli rushed, “so we’re going to Rivendell for what? To fight in the tournament?”

“Apparently.” Fíli said dryly. Kíli sat up straight and pulled the folded tent to his chest as if he wanted to protect himself from the spreading madness.

It alarmed Thorin a little that Kíli, thought they were mad. “Relax, Kíli.” Thorin ordered. “I will see us safe.”

"Stilts.” Fíli cut in. He set aside the clothing and got started on their food.

“What?”

“You’ll need stilts.” He looked up at Thorin through his long blond hair and shrugged. “We’re short. You’re taller than most dwarfs, but a few inches will make the lie more believable.”

“If things look to be going south we leave, agreed?” Balin added. Thorin regarded his kin and mentor with a heavy gaze. Finally he nodded his head.

“Aye, agreed.”

“And, of course, it goes without saying that you obliterate any and all elves you fight.” Fíli added after a long moment. Thorin allowed himself a grin and warmed at the sound of Balin’s laughter.

Kíli studied all three of them for a very long moment. Thorin couldn’t believe it was Kíli that was having trouble with the danger the journey would present.

"Oh, what the hell. Why not? It's not like we've got anything else waiting on us." He pushed the fifteen pieces of silver forward and smirked at Thorin. "Let's head to Rivendell." Balin sighed again and regarded his friends.

"Mahal love you, Thorin." Thorin couldn't do anything but beam as he responded.

"I know, I know. Because no one else will."

 

\-----oOoOoOo-----

 

“I don’t know if can, Uncle.” Kíli said uncertainly, regarding the dagger as if he had no idea what one was supposed to with it. Fíli was studying him with a disconcerting air.

“I think it best to go very short. You don’t want to be halfway about this thing.” Balin stated decisively. “Give me that, Laddie.” He relived Kíli of the dagger and went up to Thorin who was trying his very best to stand still. It’s for your family. For their future and home. He reminded himself fervently as Balin brought the knife up to his long locks. He paused. “Best close your eyes for this.” Thorin shook his head and kept his eyes resolutely open. He would not treat this as a dishonor. It was necessary. His hair was too dwarfish.

“Suit yourself.” There was a sharp tug and then a terrible slicing noise before a hank of black hair flittered to the ground. Thorin watched it fall with a strange detached feeling. It hardly looked real. It was joined shortly by more and more, until all along the ground, surrounding his feet, dark hair lay.

His head felt remarkably lighter and there was a delightful breeze ghosting down his back. Thorin didn’t know what to make of it.

“Oh,” Fíli murmured while Kíli brought his hand to his mouth in a startled squeak. Thorin ignored them again and steeled his nerves as Balin went at his beard. He focused on the white of Balin’s hair and not on the slicing noise of the dagger against his beard.

And then it was done.

Thorin swallowed before leveling his gaze at Kíli. The young dwarf was gaping at him in a very unbecoming way.

Fíli elbowed him and Kíli’s mouth clicked shut. He grinned sheepishly. “You look great, Uncle.”

“Dashing.” Fíli echoed. Balin wiped the dagger off and tilted his head as he considered Thorin.

“Actually, you do look more human. I didn’t think that’d work.” He mumbled the last bit as if he didn’t want Thorin to hear. Thorin decided to ignore the fact that Balin had gone at his hair believing he would look a fool. They could discuss that later.

He gently felt the locks that were scarcely five inches long now and valiantly fought back a pained whine. He had always been a very proud dwarf and hair was a source of great honor. His honor was now laying at his feet. The one thing that separated dwarf kind from all other races lay at his feet.

Thorin gave himself a hard shake. Now was not the time to be vain. They needed to figure out the height problem.

Fíli, bless his beard, realized the need for a distraction. “I’m thinking wood pegs.” He rushed. Kíli nodded his head and fumbled in his pack before drawing out two wooden wedges. “Shove them in the bottom of the shoe and you’ll be several inches taller.”

“We know because Fíli tested it out.” Kíli smiled mischievously, “His being the short dwarf and all.”

“Now then, into the armor.” Balin shoved the helmet on his freshly cropped head and Thorin winced. It was going to be a long, hot walk.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

It had risen at least ten degrees and Thorin was beginning to fear he might be cooking inside his armor. Beorn gave a woeful neigh beneath him and Thorin took a moment to feel sorry for the large beast.

"Uncle?” Kíli’s voice cut through the heat induced fog. “There's someone on the road ahead."

"What?" Thorin removed the heavy helmet and gave his head a shake only to remember there was no hair to correct. About a hundred feet ahead there was a person walking towards them. Thorin could make very little else out.

“What should we do?” Kíli wheezed. Fíli nudged him and handed him a skin of water to keep his hands and mouth occupied. Balin moved to grab the reigns respectfully as was expected of all servant dwarves.

"Nothing.” Thorin said as the person got clearer. “We are merely traveling to Rivendell for a tournament. It is nothing to cause alarm.”

“Now shh!” Balin hissed before straightening. Thorin could see the figure clearly now. It was a dwarf with brown hair draping over his shoulders carelessly. He looked young, no more than eighty, and carried a small pouch in his left hand that he held tightly. He was extremely pale, and, save for the gloves on his hands, he was naked.

"Sir?" Balin inquired, sounding shocked. Kíli and Fíli were gaping. Thorin somehow managed to keep his face neutral. He was rather proud of himself.

"What?" The dwarf asked shortly. His voice was easy but his body was tense. He looked ready to strike at any moment. His hair was braided on the side and his beard was short, betraying his youthfulness.

"What are you doing?" Thorin asked.

"I'm trudging." He sighed, walking past the group. He gripped a small leather bag tightly in his hand.

"What?" Kíli mumbled still staring.

"To trudge: the slow, weary, depressing yet determined walk of a dwarf who has nothing left in life except the impulse to simply soldier on." He stared up at the heavens and sighed, seeming to beg something from Manwe himself. “That and faith in our dear maker, Mahal, to please not leave me in my destitution. “ He was covered in dirt and bruises. Thorin felt he hadn’t given his clothes up without a fight. His stomach turned and he clenched his fist.

"Were you robbed?" Balin inquired politely.

The dwarf let out a surprisingly bitter laugh. "No, and then again, yes." He paused and regarded the group of ragtag dwarrows. He looked to be wondering how his life had gotten to this point. "I am this way for someone else. I'm a scribe." He said it as though it explained everything.

Thorin leaned forward in interest. "Indeed?"

The dwarf sighed. It was a surprisingly weary sound for one so young. "Yes. For a small fee I'll scribble down anything a person needs. I’ve even been known to write a ballad or two if the muse descends.”

Thorin shared a heavy look with Balin. The dwarfling paused, seeming to realize he had a captive group. He began to grin. “Anything, honest. I’ll even do patents of nobility.” He shrugged offhandedly. “If that’s your thing.”

Fíli and Kíli perked up visibly and put on their most winning smiles. “How small a sum?"

The dwarf smiled and raised a gingery brown eyebrow. "My names Ori, by the way." Fíli sauntered forward and offered his hand. Ori took it after a moment and gave an exaggerated shake.

“Fíli-“

“And Kíli!”

“At your service.” They both bowed and offered Ori another brilliant grin.

"I am Lord… Thorin from Bree, and these are my servants, Fíli and Kíli, whom you’ve already met, and Balin." Ori's eyebrow went even higher before a smirk stole over his face.

"Right, and I'm the King of Rohan. Nice to meet you." He laughed as though he found himself quite funny. Fíli frowned and surged forward with a dagger that Thorin hadn’t been aware he had.

“You will watch your tongue, or lose it! How dare you insult our Lord with your filth.”

Ori stumbled back a step before righting himself. “Now that I do believe.” He declared. Balin huffed and shook his head.

“So much for chivalry.” He stepped forward and held out his empty hands. “Alright, lad, what be your price?”

Ori regarded Balin wryly. He seemed to come to some sort of decision and shrug. “Very well. I’ve no idea what you’re all playing at but I’m in. A few criticism though?”

Thorin inclined his head and allowed the dwarfling to speak. “One, you don’t introduce servants ever. Two, they’re always ahead of you. Three, you never speak to dwarrows unless you need something from them. Fourth, you always give your last name." He tilted his head and studied Thorin before smiling brightly. It suited his face far better than the frown had. “Although, I have to say, you’ve done an impressive job of making him look like a human.”

“Your price, scribe.” Thorin said. Ori’s eyes widened in mild surprise before he nodded his head.

“Clothes,” He squeaked. He blushed, swallowed, and started again. “Cloth me, feed me, and let me ride the horse for a bit and I’ll write you a patent that nobody will question.”

Thorin motioned for Kíli to tend to the dwarfling while Balin moved closer to Thorin.

“The lad has a point. You have to treat us as inferior.” He frowned and scrunched his nose. “We also need a last name for you.”

Thorin slipped off the horse and adjusted his boots. It was still a bit odd to walk on the stilts. “I have an idea.” Balin looked surprised but waited to hear it. Thorin spoke as steadily as he could. “Oakenshield.”

Balin made a strangled sort of noise and Thorin new he understood the reference. Thorin’s grandfather, Thror, had been a famous fighter in the wars. He had single handedly defeated Azgog, a terrible orc, with nothing but an oaken branch. It was a story all dwarrows held close to their hearts, but not one that a human or elf would recognize. It spoke of victory in the most unlikely situations, and the belief that the dwarrows would one day rise above their circumstances and be free once again. It would be an unspoken message to all dwarrows they met, and one that no other would look at twice.

Thorin walked over to the now clothed Ori and gave Balin a moment to collect himself.

“Welcome,” he said and offered his hand, “To the company of Thorin Oakenshield.” Ori’s eyes shone as he clasped Thorin’s hand.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

“Hold still!” Ori huffed good naturedly. Thorin did his best but the small hairs caught in his shirt were ticklish and it was hard not to squirm. He found the young dwarf agreeable and his nephews were thrilled to no longer be the youngest in the group.

“There. Much better. You look a respectable human now and not that haggard thing you were.” Ori said proudly. Fíli studied the work and nodded his head.

“Agreed, you look much better, Uncle.” Ori put his shears away and dusted himself off. Kiíli shuffled forward and plucked at Thorin’s hair. He started to twine a few strands together and Thorin froze.

His nephews had braided his hair a thousand times, but he’d not thought he could pull it off as a human.

“I’ll do the Durin braid?” Kíli asked calmly. Fíli dropped on Thorin’s other side and did the same before they braided the strands together. It was a human style, but the braids were dwarf kind. Thorin sat stiffly and watched the fire flicker

He would not let their quest fail. He would do it for all dwarf kind. He would be victorious and provide a better life.

And he was beginning to think it just might work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, more notes and such:  
> Mahal= Dwarf name for Aule, the Valar responsible for creating them.  
> Valar= gods of Middle Earth. They were created by the high god Eru and they sang Middle Earth into existence. (It's complicated)  
> Manwe= The chief Valar whose realm is the sky
> 
> Next chapter will be far more exciting. :D


	3. Meals and Music

_All that is gold does not glitter_

_Not all who wander are lost_

_-Bilbo_

\-----oOoOoOo-----

Balin, Fili, and Kili watched with bated breath and rather obvious nerves as Ori made his way to the front table to present the patent of nobility. Thorin kept himself aloft and quiet. He allowed his pride to show in his eyes and decided the effect must have been quite successful when passing _men_ inclined their head respectfully.

Ori waved his hands about as he talked and spoke of Thorin’s history. The elf and human at the table watched him with obvious disdain before saying something. Ori bowed his head politely and took up the great stick laying against the table. Thorin sucked in a breath and held it as Ori hit the gong for jousting and sword fighting.  Ori bowed again and then he was walking back towards them with a grin that had Fili and Kili bouncing on the spot.

“Beards and breadsticks, the Lads done it.” Balin mumbled. Thorin repressed his grin again and motioned for Ori to fall into step behind him.  They made their way over to where they’d pitched Bert’s tent and all went inside. Thorin secured the flap before turning around and regarding Ori. The young dwarf fidgeted under Thorin’s heavy gaze. Thorin stepped forward and brought both hands to Ori’s shoulders.

“Well done, Ori. You have done the company proud.” Ori beamed and bounced on his feet. Fili and Kili came in on either side and looped their arms around him as well.

“Congratulations!” They gushed. Thorin released him and went to tend to the schedule by Balin.

“What is it, my old friend?” Thorin quietly asked. Balin was deep in thought and that rarely spelled good news for the dwarrows.

“I didn’t think we’d get this far. What are we? We are not warriors.”

“There are a few handy with a blade.” Thorin replied, giving Balin a knowing look. Balin harrumphed and resumed organising the schedule.

“I’m nothing but an old dwarf.”

Thorin straightened and shook his head. “I do not care. I would take each of you over an army of warriors. For when I asked, you came. Loyalty, honor, a willing heart… I can ask for no more than that.”

Balin stared at him long and hard. “You know that I would follow you anywhere, right?” A fierce protectiveness welled up in Thorin’s chest and he struggled with how to respond.

Thorin was saved from having to reply by Ori’s loud escape from his nephews’ clutches. He was laughing merrily and looked even younger.

"Yes, thank you so much for the appreciation.” He joked, righting his clothing. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some… supplies I need to get," He smiled once more before turning and walking out of the tent.

Thorin let out a quiet breath and stood a little straighter. The heaviness since he'd started this quest lightened a bit. They were here, they were in, and he looked like a human. Against all odds this completely mad idea was actually working.

“Speaking of supplies,” Balin grumbled he fished a slip of paper out of his pocket and thrust it into Thorin’s hand. “I need you to pick these items up.”

Thorin stared down at the items. “Wouldn’t it look more believable if one of you were to retrieve the items?”

“Undoubtedly,” Balin agreed, “but they would overcharge us. We haven’t got enough money for that.”

“Besides, Uncle,” Fili said, draping his arm over Thorin’s shoulder. “You said yourself that no one would suspect anything unless we acted like they should. For all they know you just want to see the town.”

“Or you’re secretly a girl and like to shop.” Kili offered with a grin. Thorin shook of his nephews arm and shoved the list of items in his pocket.

“Very well. I’ll take Beorn with me. At least I can look somewhat respectable.” He paused at the doorway before looking over his shoulder wryly. “Mind you, it’ll be easier to look respectable without all of you.”

He left at Fili and Kili’s exclamation. And if he grinned, well, no one was any the wiser.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

The town was considerably larger than he had anticipated. He felt small in its overly tall buildings and fervently thanked Mahal that Fili had given him the stilts. He was six inches taller with them, and though it was difficult to walk quickly, he needed the height. He was still shorter than the average human, but not questionably shorter now.

Beorn seemed to enjoy the cobblestone path. Indeed, the horse was walking slower and seeming to savor each step. Thorin would have laugh if it wouldn’t have looked odd.

The city was vast and full of growing things. There was no mountain stone to be found aside from marble and white stones. The buildings worked around the trees and the paths seemed to move with the land instead of through it.

It reminded him vaguely of the mines from his homeland.

_“I sit beside the fire and think,”_

The words drifted across the busy path and instantly caught the dwarf’s attention. It was a beautiful baritone that sounded young and carefree. There was some instrument, (a clarinet?) accompanying it.

_“of all that I have seen,_

_of meadow-flowers and butterflies_

_in summers that have been;”_

Thorin steered Beorn towards the notes which seemed to be coming from one of the elven paths that went along the building tops. He could see two figures walking through one and he sped Beorn up.

_“Of yellow leaves and gossamer_

_in autumns that there were,_

_with morning mist and silver sun_

_and wind upon my hair.”_

Thorin was finally near enough to see who it was that was singing and he found himself gripping Beorn tightly in surprise. The singer was as short as- if not shorter than- him. He was pleasantly plump with a round, glowing face and bright smile. His hair was a honey-blond curl that hung about his face freely. He had pointed ears that weren’t quite elf-like and a button nose that suited his cheery complexion. Yet the most surprising factor of the little being were his feet. They were larger than any human, dwarf, or elf feet he had ever seen, and they had golden curls similar to the ones on his head, atop them.

“Melekûn…”(Hobbit) Thorin breathed, hardly believing that he was truly seeing a Hobbit. They were known far and wide, but very rarely seen as they preferred to stay in their own land of the Shire. They could also slip by other races nearly unseen if they so choose.

“Aye,” The person walking next to the hobbit said, and Thorin realized it was a dwarf. He had an odd hat on that bent out at the edges, and three braids that stuck out in various directions. “That was a lovely tune.” The Hobbit laughed and fiddled with the basket of bread he was carrying.

“It was just a little something I thought up. I do miss the coolness of autumn. I fear we’ll all melt in this heat.”

“Come now,” the dwarf scoffed, “you’re supposed to love summer. Us dwarfs are friends of winter.”

The hobbit raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Says who?”

The dwarf shrugged. “Everyone. It’s common knowledge that all Halflings love the sun and warmth… I think dwarfs are supposed to like the cold because of mountains?” He shrugged again. “I don’t know. It is hot though.”

Thorin found himself following the Halfling without really knowing he was.

 The Hobbit said something else to which the dwarf laughed causing the Hobbit to laugh in return and Thorin urged Beorn closer. He wanted to hear more of that truly enchanting sound.

The Hobbit looked over his shoulder and for a moment locked eyes with Thorin who felt something thump in his chest. He quickly looked away before Thorin could open his mouth to say anything. Beorn, being a very clever horse, sped up and closed the gap between Thorin and the enticing Hobbit.

After at least ten minutes of pursuing, the Hobbit looked over his shoulder and regarded Thorin with his light blue eyes. They seemed to dance with merriment. “Are you following me, Sir Knight?”

“Indeed.” Thorin answered without hesitation. He prayed to Mahal and all other Valar he could remember that the Hobbit would speak again.

“Why?” The Hobbit continued to walk, apparently intent on wherever he was going.

“Because I cannot find it within myself to stop at the sight of such magnificence.” Thorin was rather proud of himself for that one. The dwarf at the Hobbit’s side snorted a laugh and shared a grin with the Hobbit who seemed appreciative of the compliment. He needed to know the Hobbit’s name because calling him ‘the Hobbit’ did not come anywhere near to doing him justice. “Would you tell me your name?”

The Hobbit turned his head down and away from Thorin, as though he were hiding his expression. He waited a moment before returning his gaze. “And what would you do with my name? You may as well call me a meal. For that is all I am to you, something to devour after you hunt.” The Hobbit finished with an airy laugh.

“Meal? Then a meal you shall be, my Hobbit, until I find out your name.” Thorin called. The dwarf at the hobbit’s side shared in his masters laugh. Thorin might have been flying for how light he felt. He leaned forward on Beorn and allowed his hunger to show. “My delectable and beautiful meal.”

The Hobbit instantly flushed an appealing red and averted his gaze while the dwarf at his side laughed without care. Thorin smiled at the sound.

“Shut it, Bofur.” The Hobbit hissed. The dwarf, Bofur apparently, snorted and gave his head a mock bow.

“Of course, My Lord.”

“Then I hope your appetite keeps, Sir Hunter.” The Hobbit called off before turning into one of the buildings and disappearing from Thorin’s sight.

He wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened, but he was far more excited about the city than he had been.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

"Thorin! There you are! Did you get the items off the list?" Balin crowded Thorin the minute he arrived back at the tent. He handed the items over to Balin with a vacant nod. The items were why he was almost late. He'd gotten lost twice on his way back. He was blaming it on the halfling. He would probably have never found the tents at all if they hadn’t had a sign.

Fili studied him while Balin gathered the bags of items. "Why do you have that look on your face?"

"What look?" Thorin questioned absently. They only had a few minutes before the joust started. He’d very nearly missed it. He slipped the Hauberk over his head and frowned at how loose it was.

"That look. The one you get whenever you fancy someone." Thorin paused in lifting the cuirass and raised his eyebrow at his nephew. Kili was glancing between him and Fili with excitement rising in his eyes.

“He’s right! You do!”

“Perhaps you might assist me with my armor instead of making assumptions about objects of my affection.” He held the cuirass out pointedly. Fili, still beaming took the cuirass.

“Is it a dwarf? A pretty little thing, I imagine.” He went on while he fastened the cuirass in place.

"Kili, attend your uncle.” Balin ordered. “We can wonder about a potential fancy after the joust, thank you very much.

Kili shuffled forward and helped Thorin with the rest of the misshapen armor. "Okay."

They helped Thorin onto Beorn, who seemed to grumbled about his extra weight, and then handed him his lance. "Remember to keep it in the cradle and stay on your horse. We cannot lose Beorn." The horse huffed as though he was agreeing with that statement.

"I have done this before." Thorin rumbled. Balin gave him a nervous smile and nodded his head.

"Yes. Mahal protect you, and remember, I can only patch you back up so much."

Thorin nodded before putting his helmet on, being careful of his ears before snapping it closed. It only took him a moment to get to the starting point. This was the part of jousting Thorin didn't care for. He despised the waiting. It allowed tension to build, and panic to start. When he was actually riding, it was fine, but the waiting got to him every. Single. Time.

An announcer came out and declared that Sir Thomas of Gondor was his opponent. The announcer went on to describe how wonderful the Human was. Thorin drowned out the endless words and focused on Beorn. He moved between Thorin's legs, flexing his muscles and readying himself to take off down the field. Thorin could feel the strength and speed in the beast's muscles and they gave him courage. He allowed his mind to focus and count down the seconds. This was when he felt most focused. With his eyes closed and Beorn’s power beneath him, Thorin could focus and see clearly what he needed to do. He had only to wait for the signal before he could claim victory.

The trumpets sounded and Beorn took off with a whiny of excitement as Thorin’s eyes snapped open. He dropped his lance down from its upward position and got it in the 'cradle,' as the crook between his elbow and chest was called. He held onto it tightly and aimed it at the oncoming human. He felt no fear, no worry, no panic, no negative emotion at all. All Thorin could ever feel when he rode with a lance was a wild freedom. It was something he never wanted to give up. When he rode against another it didn't matter who he was. What his position in life was. What his race was. It only mattered if he had the courage to face his opponent, the talent to strike, and the resilience to stay on his horse.

At those moments, Thorin’s fate was entirely in his own hands.

The human neared and he adjusted the lance to the left the slightest bit.  With the weapon's trajectory corrected, it hit home on the human's shoulder and jarred him. The human, with the most memorable look of surprise, tumbled off his horse.

 Thorin tilted his head back and let the freedom flood his veins as the crowd cried out his victory

\-----oOoOoOo-----

Bilbo was humming again. Not that that was a strange occurrence, it was anything but. Bilbo liked music and he was always humming something or other. 

He kept humming the tune from yesterday. It had just been a verse he’d made up on the fly at Bofur’s urging, but he couldn’t get it out of his head.

Well, he couldn’t get the person that had showed up while he was singing out of his head. He’d been extremely handsome with his sharp features, dark hair, and light blue eyes. He’d left Bilbo nearly breathless.

Bofur hadn’t been helpful either. The dwarf had been nearly insufferable in his teasing.

Bilbo sat back and observed the flowers he had been pruning. The garden was flourishing nicely, enjoying the summer heat. While Bilbo wasn’t thrilled about the extra degrees, he was content to watch his plants enjoy them. It also gave him something to do. While he loved Lord Elrond’s house, he missed his library. The elves here would never let him read their books.

“Bilbo?” The Hobbit waved his friend over and smiled up at the dwarf as he dropped a basket with what would (hopefully) be lunch. “I was wondering where you’d offed to.” He laid out plates and slapped Bilbo’s hands away from the basket playfully. “Ah! None of that. I serve. You ate all the jam before I could get the bread out last time.” He opened the basket and grabbed napkins out. “Now, as I was saying. You’re ‘guard’ is quite cross with you and yelled at me before I cheerfully told him to kiss an orc. You might want to watch your back or get a new one. I don’t think the elf is particularly taken with us.”

This was why Bofur was Bilbo’s best friend. Beside the fact that he was the only person in the city, aside from Elrond and Biblo’s guardian- the person to whom he was a ward-that would talk to him without unnecessary airs, he was also woefully unconcerned with social niceties. He’d slap Bilbo’s hand away from the jam and tease him mercilessly.  
He’d also proven more than once that he’d do nigh on anything to help him. Bofur had been his ‘servant’ since before Bilbo could recall. They’d more or less grown up together.  
He’d made him toys when he was young, and in repayment Bilbo had given him affection and freedom to do most anything he wanted.

“Calberon?” Bilbo asked as he accepted the bread and jam. Bofur nodded his head. 

“Maybe you can pick a new knight protector from the batch at the tournament. Maybe even a hunter?” Bofur’s eyes were positively gleaming and his smile was wicked. Bilbo regarded his bread for one moment before leaning forward and smashing it against Bofur’s face. The dwarf spurted in surprise and indignation as Bilbo took his bread and jam.

“You,” Bilbo informed him calmly, “are a terror and I do not know why I hang out with you.” Bofur peeled the bread and jam off his face before taking a bite with a shrug. Bilbo giggled.

“Maybe, but you can’t deny you were flirting with the man.”

“I couldn’t help it,” Bilbo confessed with a blush. “He was enchanting…”

“And short.” Bilbo stuck his tongue out.

“He was not!” Bofur held his hands up defensively. 

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.” He considered their lunch before passing out an apple. “And he seemed nice enough.”

“It doesn’t matter. I won’t see him again. He was probably just fascinated at seeing a Hobbit.”

Bofur looked surprised at that. “Of course you will. You have to go to the tournament tomorrow after all.”

"We do?" Bilbo furrowed his brow in confusion again. "Why?”

“You have to go. I don’t. I will go so you don’t die of boredom and because Calberon scares me. You have to go because the big guy wants you to make social niceties.”  
Well, Bilbo could hardly say he found the thought displeasing. Quite the opposite, in fact. He was most eager to learn more about the human, if possible. Why had Bilbok not thought to ask his name? The knight had certainly been fearless in asking for Bilbo's.

“I’ll make sure one of the ladies get your wardrobe looked after.“ Bofur added after a moment. “We need you looking good.” Bilbo nodded his head and patted his hair absently. It was a mess. Bofur observed the act with eyes that were still sparkling.

“Come here, you Melekûn.” Bilbo looked at him curiously and Bofur just smiled. He shuffled them around until he was seated behind the Hobbit and then gently began to comb his fingers through his hair. He separated strands of the curls and then began to braid them intricately.

The elves in the palace would be horrified if they saw a dwarf braiding the halflings hair but Bilbo was thrilled. Bofur’s fingers were extremely nimble and, though you would never know it from looking at his own braids, he was very skilled at weaving elaborate, and flattering styles.

And Bilbo very much wanted to look good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation and things for this chapter:  
> Melekûn= Khuzdul for Hobbit  
> The song Bilbo sings is one he sings for Frodo in Fellowship of the Ring called "I Sit Beside the Fire and Think"  
> Cuirass= chest piece of armor


	4. Chapter 4

_There are no safe paths in this part of the world._

_Remember you are over the Edge of the Wild now, and in for all sorts of fun wherever you go._

_-Gandalf_

\-----oOoOoOo-----

“Rukhsul menu. (You offspring of an Orc)”  Thorin growled at his armor. It was dented, again, and too large to do much with.

“I know,” Fili said, hitting Thorin’s side with a stick in a valiant attempt to make it fit better, “Bert was a large, lazy, troll of a human.”

“Here,” Kili offered and then he took a swing at Thorin’s chest with a hammer he had some how managed to obtain. A lesser dwarf might have run away, Thorin merely flinched. Balin balked at the sight of the young dwarf with a hammer and rushed forward.

“Enough of that!” He ordered, unfastening Thorin’s armor. “Why are  you even wearing this? You have another twenty minutes until the sword fight.”

“Because none of the humans ever take theirs off.”

“Probably because theirs fits.” Fili pointed out. Thorin and Balin glared at him. He smiled sheepishly. “Right, sorry. Not helping.” Thorin decided it would be in his benefit to ignore his companions and went about adjusting the cuirass as best he could by himself. It was clearly man made armor as the workmanship was far too shoddy to be dwarf or even elf made. As much as he despised the elves, he could not deny they made nice armor. It was light and strong. Dwarrow armor was intricate and durable, impossible to pull off a fallen dwarf unless you knew it’s secrets, but heavy as a dragon’s tail.

“Where has the scribe gotten to?” Kili asked suddenly. Thorin looked up from his adjustments and replayed the day in his mind. He hadn’t seen the young dwarf since they had arrived early the previous morning.

“Don’t look at me, laddie, I’ve been here the entire stay. Have neither of you seen him?”

Fili and Kili barely glanced at each other before shaking their heads in time. Thorin sighed and rolled his neck. They’d not been there but a day and they’d already lost a member of their company. Perhaps they were too hasty in taking Ori under their wing…

Kili started like a rabbit before surging forward and ducking his head. He started lacing Thorin’s vambrace and motioned for the others to join him. “Someone’s coming!” He hissed between his gritted teeth. Fili and Balin immediately adopted reverent poses that made Thorin’s stomach turn. He straightened and pulled an air of importance and aloofness about himself as quickly as he could, ignoring his sickening gut. Not ten seconds later a man approached the tent.

"I require your presence, sir Thorin."

"Why?" Thorin put as much disdain as he could on the syllable and it pleased him more than it should when the human visibly shuddered.

Thank Mahal for his deep, rumbling voice. He might just intimidate everyone into believing he was great. “Because I have one who would have you speak for them.” He regarded Fili, Kili, and Balin distastefully. “Their kind.”

Ori? Thorin huffed, letting his own distaste show. “Very well. Lead on, and be quick about it.”

Thorin, Fili, Kili, and Balin followed the human across the row of tents to the first vendor tents. He stopped in front of a sickly green colored one and held the flap aside for Thorin. Thorin motioned for Fili, Kili, and Balin to enter before him. He was no fool, he knew that man would drop the flap on them and he would not have his companions so disrespected.

The tent was a bit larger than theirs. It had a table at the center with various cards lying about. There were also several sets of dice, and strange spinning wheels. In the center of the room, once again in nothing more than his hand warmers, was Ori. He didn’t appear any more injured than when they had last seen him, though his bruising looked harsher. At least, not from what Thorin could see. Since the dwarf was naked, if there were new injuries to be had, Thorin would make sure that the human knew just how hard a dwarf could hit. Ori trembled slightly before them, a defiant look in his soft eyes.

Anger boiled low in Thorin’s stomach. Robbed indeed. The dwarf had gambled away his money, and they had taken his clothes to prove their point. "What is the meaning of this?" He growled out.

"He has lost his money, and his clothes."

"We can see that." Balin huffed out. He walked over to Ori and threw his cloak around the scribes trembling form. Thorin was unsure of whether it was from cold or anger. Either way, the human would regret the day they chose that dwarf to humiliate. He was a member of Thorin’s company, and under his protection as such.

"Why have you undressed my servant?" Thorin demanded. He was determined to be in control of this situation.

"Because he cannot pay his debts. He should never bet more than he has. He should have been grateful we let him play at all."

"It is cruel to make him walk around naked while there are ruffians about."

"Indeed. It will teach him a lesson." The human parried with little care.

"You would cost him his life?. Give back the clothing." Thorin fisted his hand against his side in an attempt to abate his rage.

"So you’ll pay the debt?” Of course, that was why they had brought him. Cursed humans and stupid dwarf.

“Zabirakhajimuhazu. (Please)” Ori whispered, his eyes downcast. He had red ink on his hand, ink from the patent he had made for Thorin.

He looked beaten, and that cut Thorin to his very core. He was so young, so innocent and he’d been so proud when they first met. He had the right to be proud. Naked as he was, he’d been proud to be a dwarf and proud that he kept going despite his circumstances. Thorin did not know what all had transpired here, but he was _tired_ of his race having to look so beaten all the time at the hands of so few, stupid, elves and humans. "Please, give me the chance to repay the debt to you, Master."

"Release him and give him back his clothes." Thorin ordered, keeping his eyes on Ori less he did something he would eventually regret. Though it would take a while for him to regret smashing the human's nose.

"Then you will pay." The  human sounded smug and happy.

"I do not have the money right now. You will get it when I do. If I do not have it for you in a week, you may have my armor. It is worth more than this servant."

In the economic sense it was true, and that made Thorin stand even straighter. Any dwarf was worth a dragon’s hoard of gold. The human approached Ori with his stolen clothing and made to put it on him. Ori snatched it away before he could.

"You will not touch me again." He promised quietly before slipping the clothes on.

"Come," Thorin ordered before anything else could happen. He didn't speak again until they were back at their own tent. Beorn shuffled on the ground nervously outside, sensing the groups discontent. "Why didn't you tell us you had a gambling problem? You lied instead."

Ori inhaled through his nose and huffed the air out. "I didn't lie. I don’t have a gambling problem.” He lowered his eyes and fidgeted.

“Then how do you explain what just happened? Or that you were naked when we first met.”

Ori looked up, his eyes flashing. “That was not from gambling. I sold all that I had for a small sum of money. I attempted to double it just now and only lost what little I had.” He fingered the little  leather pouch that was forever hanging off his wrist.

“Why do you have such a need for money?” Thorin needed to get to the heart of the problem. If it was simple greed he would release Ori from their group as soon as his debt was paid.

He didn’t think it was greed.

Ori fidgeted before slumping in defeat. “My brother was arrested for pick pocketing. The fine is handsome and I can’t pay it with what I have.” He fingered the pouch again. “I’m the only one who can get him out.”

“Then you shall earn a wage.” Thorin stated simply. He turned and took up Beorn’s brush. “You can start by brushing down Beorn.” He took his helmet up, feeling the tightness in his chest relax a slight bit at the radiant smile Ori gave as he accepted the brush. “Fili, Kili. Attend me. I’m late for the sword.” His nephews instantly fell instep.

“Sir Norien is your competition for this challenge.” Kili informed him as they hurried to the rink. “He’s in his thirties.”

“And he likes to go for high strokes so keep your guard up.”

“So he has weak defense low?” Thorin asked as he drew his sword from his scabbard.

Fili flashed a grin. “Perfect for dwarves. Hit hard and fast and he won’t recover.” Thorin nodded his head and entered the circle. The squire quickly shut the gate behind him.

“Proceed!” He bellowed and the large, brutish knight, Sir Norien, charged forward. Thorin ducked under the attack and thrust his sword down and around. The knight bellowed in annoyance and went for another clumsy attack. Thorin knocked it aside and went for his leg. He heard the ring of a gong that signaled his point. A few swings and dodges later and he had all the points he needed.

“Well done, Unc-”

“Sir Thorin!” Fili quickly cut in over Kili and gave him a warning stare. Kili blanched and took Thorin’s sword. ‘Sorry.’ He mouthed.

“He was no challenge. We shall have this category easily if that is what my competition is like.” He rotated his arm and winced. “Though I may tire out before victory.”

“You’re needed at jousting.” Kili added unhelpfully.

“Already?” Thorin handed the scabbard over to Kili and followed them to the jousting grounds where Ori and Balin were already awaiting. The young dwarf was wearing a knitted sweater that suited him well. He looked as if he’d regained the bounce in his step.

“Your armor has come loose again.” Balin lamented. Thorin shook his head.

“Aye, and we don’t have the means, let alone time, to fix it.” He went to Beorn and hoisted himself up with the help of Fili and Kili. He hardly noticed the stilts anymore. That was good at least. The additional height they provided was still disconcerting but he was quickly growing used to it.

He looked out at the stands to see who all he would be fighting in front of, and promptly caught his breath.

"Bulag. (meal)" He breathed out before flushing. He cursed the lack of beard and hair to cover the fact that his ears and cheeks were now red. Balin frowned at him.

“What? You’re hungry?”

“Who are you looking at?” Kili insisted. He peered at the crowd while Thorin glowered.

“I am fine, Balin. Stop it, Kili.”

“No,” Kili kept looking, more intently if anything. “You’re looking at someone.”

“Kili’s right.” Fili started looking at the crowd. Thorin couldn’t help but let his gaze drift back to the Hobbit who was sitting near the front with Bofur at his side. He was talking animatedly and waving his hands about in excitement. His golden curls flashed in the evening light and Thorin felt longing stir in his chest. They would be soft to touch, he had no doubt. He was sitting in the royal section.

That could be… difficult.

"They’re right." Balin followed Thorin's gaze and gasped. “By my beard! Is that a Hobbit?”

"Yes." Thorin realized he answered too quickly after Fili and Kili released triumphant exclamations.

“Ha! You were looking at someone.” Kili crowed with a large grin. “He’s cute too.”

“He’s in the Royal Box.” Fili noted.

“Aye, the boy is right.” Balin said with a frown. “I’m afraid you're aiming to high, Thorin."

"Is there any other way to aim?" Thorin reasoned. He was in his dead master’s armor riding his horse pretending to be a knight. Aiming high was clearly the only thing they did.

Ori studied him with a sappy smile. He finally sighed and wandered over to Thorin. "Well… hobbits, silly and homey as they are, do love poetic words. Here, try this." He leaned in and whispered a few words in his ear and Thorin inclined his head thankfully at the scribe.

“Aye, that’ll do quite nicely.” He gazed at Fili and Kili. “You two could take lessons from him. He was actually helpful.” He urged Beorn forward and waited for the joust to start.

 

\-----oOoOoOo-----

Bilbo pointedly did not watch, or fidget, as the jousters gathered for their announcements. Bofur was sitting at his side trying not to laugh at him which, of course, did not help Bilbo’s fidgeting. He was sitting at Bilbo’s preference instead of the traditional standing servants were supposed to do. They’d only had one usher try to make him stand. They’d left with their hearing a bit worse off and Bofur still sitting.

“You could try to be nice.” Bilbo said after Bofur made another ridiculous nose as he bit back a laugh.

“I can’t around you. You’re being impatient. They’ll be out in a minute.”

“But it might not be _him_.” Bofur huffed.

“Of course. We don’t know his name because you didn’t ask.”

“Well you could have.” Bilbo pointed out. It wasn’t entirely his fault.

“I’m  a lowly dwarf. I can’t ask for names.” Bofur replied. Bilbo gaped.

“I never! You ask everyone and anyone questions. You’ve never let social expectations dictate what you do.”

Bofur didn’t get his chance to defend himself as a elf stood in front of them. “Can I present Lord Smaug of Dale.” Bilbo stiffened, as did Bofur, as another pompous elf made his way towards them. He had fiery red hair and pale brown eyes that were nearly golden. He certainly didn’t look anything like the many elves Bilbo had seen.

He knew about this elf though. His vast reputation far exceed him. A reputation Bilbo found completely repugnant. He was a noted warrior that had killed countless ‘enemies’ in his time. His manservant was also known to be rude and gossipy.

“May.” Bilbo corrected rudely. “You obviously were perfectly capable of presenting him so you shouldn’t use can. Also, you needn’t ask my permission when you will present him regardless of my approval.” Bofur coughed violently to cover his laugh and Bilbo sat back in his chair, pretending to check on his friend.

"Master Baggins, your wit is every bit as sharp as I was led to believe." Smaug snobbishly sat in the chair by his side and leaned in as close as he could. His breath smelt disgustingly of elderberries. Bilbo curbed a cringe and turned his eyes back to the field. He looked out just in time to see a familiar knight ride up to the stand. He did not sit up straighter and beam.

Not at all.

"Your name, dear delectable, I still wish to hear it."

Bilbo had to work to keep his smile from completely taking over his face.. The blond knight's eyes were sparkling with mirth and excitement. He had taken his helmet off and held it in his hand, much to Bilbo's pleasure. He wanted to look at his incredible blue eyes again. "Do you indeed?"

The knight urged his mount closer to the stand and dropped his voice down a shiver-inducing octave. "Or perhaps angels have no name, only beautiful faces."

Bilbo's eyes widened marginally and he could feel his grin broaden at the unexpected and lovely words. He had never had someone so openly compliment him without knowing who he was. Nor had he had someone so sincerely pursue him before. Most sought his attentions because of his station, not because they found him attractive.

The knight seemed to enjoy Bilbo's reaction as his own eyes brightened even more and his lips twitched as though they wished to grin.

Then, of course, Smaug decided to make his arrogant self known. "You, what is your name?"

The knight blinked, looking taken aback by the sudden question. "Oh, my name is-umm."

"Sir Umm?" Smaug jeered mercilessly. The knight straightened and his eyes, which had been so wonderfully bright, dimmed and hardened.

"Sir Thorin Oakenshield."

"Goodness, I would forget too. What a name." He leaned over to Bilbo as though he was giving him a secret, but didn't bother to lower his voice. "He must be a peasant Knight. It is so sad to see what all they let in to this tournament now."

Thorin's eyes darkened completely and his face was no longer pleasantly calm, it was now stern and seemed sharper. Bilbo’s chest tightened and his heart sank as his handsome knight rode away to begin his match. "Bofur?" The loyal friend bent down to hear what Bilbo wanted. He could probably sense Bilbo’s anger.

"Yes?"

"Find Sir Thorin's servants and have them bring you to him. Inform him then of my name. My _full_ name."

Bofur nodded, barely hiding his large grin. He bowed slightly as he backed away. "Certainly, Milord."

Bilbo didn't bother looking back at Smaug. He directed his entire attention to watching Thorin win the match.

 

\-----oOoOoOo-----

"Thorin-Sir!" Balin called as Thorin made his way to their side of the field. Thorin peered over at his friend and stifled the urge to sigh. He wasn't really in the mood right now. His attempt at wooing the Hobbit had gone horribly wrong because  of the bloody elf sitting next to Thorin’s Hobbit. (Which is what he would continue to call him until he had a name.)

Bofur was standing beside Balin and Ori, Fili and Kili were pointing at him exaggeratedly as if Thorin couldn’t see the dwarf and his ridiculous hat.

Thorin sped Beorn up until he was with his friends and the servant.

"Yes?"

"This dwarf has something to tell you." Balin stepped aside as Thorin slipped off his horse. He regarded the dwarf for a long moment, noticing more details about him. He had mustaches that were curved up at the edge and laugh lines all around his eyes. He clearly liked to smile. He had a chain around his neck with a silver pendant that depicted a tree full of leaves. The roots tangled together and formed the border around the piece. It was excellently made and Thorin recognized it as a symbol of the Shire.

The dwarf’s eyes, which were brown, were merry and bright as he bounced over to Thorin. "My master wishes me to inform you that his name is Bilbo Labingi  Baggins."

Thorin’s breath stuck in his throat for a moment as he repeated the name. Bilbo Baggins. It tasted nice and suited the cheerful Hobbit that he had caught singing. He said it again and decided that, yes, it was perfect. It flowed off his tongue and seemed to resonate around his head as if it belonged there.

Bofur bounced on his heels for a moment, grinning at Thorin before giving his head a decisive nod. “I’ll let my master know you approve.” He bowed slightly and grinned cheekily. “I suspect I’ll be seeing you again soon.”

“Thank you.” Thorin said without thought. He didn’t miss the look of surprise, and then delight on Bofur’s face.

“You’re welcome, Sir.”

* * *

 

The amulet that Bofur is wearing:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More translations/ definitions:
> 
> -Rukhsul menu= Khuzdul for "You offspring of an Orc" (Rather a rude insult)
> 
> -Zabirakhajimuhazu= Khuzdul for 'please'. I've no idea how you would go about saying it. Which is probably the reason dwarrows rarely apologize.
> 
> -Yes, I replaced Adhemar with Smaug. I have no regrets.


	5. Chapter 5

_“It is useless to meet revenge with revenge: it will heal nothing.”_

  


_-Frodo Baggins_

  


\-----oOoOoOo-----

“A plague upon that son of a troll.” Thorin growled at his once again ruined armor as he dismounted. Balin shuffled forward to inspect the damage to his cuirass while Fili helped him pull it off. He’d had a close call with the last joust. Caspian had been far more skilled than he looked.

“That was too close, Uncle.” Filie murmured. Thorin nodded his head. The last lance in that round had cracked his armor and he’d been helpless against the broken edge that drove inside. He couldn’t joust in broken armor, and he only had one more round before he was the champion of Rivendell’s tournament. 

Not to mention the last round in the swordfight.

Kili ran his hands along Thorin’s chest and made a hissing noise when he saw the broken chains. He plucked a piece of wood from Thorin’s side that he hadn’t even realized was there. He looked down at his chest and repressed a wince. When his adrenaline wore off he’d be in for quite a bit of pain. “Worthless man made armor.” Fili grumbled as he pulled the remaining armor off distastefully.

“Come along, we have to get this repaired.” Balin huffed.

“With what?” Thorin looked at his dwarrows. “Do any of you have money hidden? We don’t even have anything to trade.” They couldn’t get the armor repaired with out money. They’d be able to do it themselves if they had a forge, but they’d still need supplies...

“You’re a match from winning,” Ori objected, wringing his knit covered hands, “Surely someone would mend it on anticipation of payment?”

Thorin regarded his dwarrows again before sighing. They had no other plan and he couldn’t qualify with broken armor. They had to make this work. “We’ll have to hope they will. We’ve no other choice.”

There were fifteen blacksmiths at the competition. Most of them had traveled with the tournament in hope of extra business. Thorin and his company had gone to fourteen of them.

“Come now,” Kili wheedled at the last one, a elf maiden that had long brown hair. He smiled alluringly and leaned forward, resting on the anvil she was making a horse shoe on. She was probably pretty for an elf, and she was nicer than any other smiths they’d met. “Surely you can afford to make this one on a promise? Sir Thorin is a sure win for both tournaments.” The elf maiden gave her head a shake though she was nearly smiling. Kili smiled right back and wiggled a little closer.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t work on promises. You’ll have to look elsewhere.”

“Where?” Fili insisted. He seemed to have had enough of his brothers flirtation. “There’s no one else.”

“You can try over there,” she indicated an area behind the other smiths tents that Thorin had assumed was used for waste. “That’s where they force the dwarf to work.”

Kili started to speak again but Thorin stepped forward. He’d watched his nephew flirt with the she-elf for ten minutes to no avail. He wasn’t going to watch any longer. She might have been nice for an elf, but she was still an elf. “Thank you for your assistance.” The words tasted bitter in his mouth but he ignored the ill feeling and turned away. He heard Kili mumble something that sounded like their tent slot before they left her forge .

He led the way to the back area and let out a slight breath of air at the figure he found their. He was a tall dwarf that was well built. The top of his head was bald but his remaining hair was nearly as long as his voluminous beard. He had tattoos all along the top of his head, and several dwarf-made cuffs on his ear. He pounded a ball of metal, fiercely beating it into submission with hands that were protected by thick gloves.

“No pay, no work.” The dwarf said without looking up. Balin gave a violent lurch at Thorin’s side and gripped his chest near his heart. Thorin’s stomach dropped and he spun towards his oldest friend.

“Balin?” Thorin inquired, heedless of what anyone thought about a man tending to his servant. He would not risk Balin’s well being over something as small as appearances. The dwarf at the forge huffed.

“No, I’m Dwalin.”

Balin made a terrible, pained noise and stumbled forward a step. Thorin instantly wrapped an arm around his mentor’s shoulders and helped steady him. “Dwalin,” Balin whispered. The dwarf, Dwalin, stilled. Everyone stood still for a moment, Thorin unsure of what was happening, and Fili, Kili, and Ori too wary of breaking the strange tension in the air to speak. Finally Dwalin set the hammer he’d been working with aside and gripped the table, his muscles rippling under the force of his grip. Thorin dropped his hand to his sword, wary. If the dwarf proved hostile, he’d be quite the opponent. Thorin did not want to have to fight him, but he’d not hesitate to defend his family.

Dwalin gave a quiet sigh, released the table and turned to look at them. He was more imposing from the front than he had been from the back. There was a thick scar from his eye to his nose where he’d clearly been attacked with a sword, and he was covered in burn marks. His pale eyes glistened and his mouth dropped open in shock

“Balin?”

“Brother!” Balin staggered forward and gripped his brother’s shoulders. Dwalin peered down at him and choked out a laugh.

“By my beard!” He exclaimed, “You’re shorter and wider than last I saw you!” Balin shook his head, tears streaking his face without care.

“Shorter, not wider.” Dwalin chuckled again before gripping Balin and bringing his head down in the familiar familial greeting.

Thorin blinked at the scene unfolding before him and finally felt his brain spark to life as he made the connection. _Dwalin_ , he should have known! Balin’s younger, warrior brother… Balin had told him stories when they were younger, but he’d never thought to meet him. They were sold to separate families before Thorin had joined Bert’s family.

He had another dwarf to add to his growing company.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

Dwalin was an excellent smithy. He had Thorin’s armor repaired and far better fitted by the end of the day. Thorin led the company back to their tent with the exclusion of Balin. They would allow the brothers some time alone to reconnect and explain what Thorin and the others were doing.

The day was bright and excessively warm for late August. It made Thorin’s head ache in his helmet and long for the cool days of winter. Still, it was nice to be able to move properly in the army. He didn’t feel nearly as cumbersome as he had.

“Lord Ulfrith!” Thorin looked out to see his last competition  for the sword championship and frowned. Ulfrith was heavier built than him and tall. He had blonde hair and elvish armor.

“My good people,” Ori declared suddenly and Thorin snapped his head over in surprise. What was the little dwarf doing? “Behold my Lord,” He gestured to Thorin who stepped forward and hoped that Ori knew what he was doing. “A knight that has been sired by Knights. A knight whom I first met in battle. A party of orcs on wargs attacked our small village of Crew and we had naught to defend ourselves. He stood alone against the terrible foe, his armor rent, wielding naught but an oaken branch as a shield he defended us. The orcs learned that day that the town would not be so easily defeated.” The crowd listened enraptured and Thorin had to admit that he told the tale with gusto. “So, without further ado, I present to you, the protector of the innocent, the defeater of evil, Sir Thorin Oakenshield!” He hopped down from the fence, which he’d climbed at some point during his tale, and stepped back with a bow. Thorin strode forward to thunderous applause and raised his sword.  

Ulfrith was faster than he looked, and he came after Thorin with one punishing blow after another, no hint of stopping. His sword left sharp dents in the edge of Thorin’s shield and his armor and Thorin was immensely thankful to Dwalin for repairing it. Ulfrith's sword was still bloody from his previous bout and the sight of the blood enraged Thorin. It was dishonorable to be so blatantly trying to harm your opponent, and then to leave their blood upon your weapon as if it were a prize...

Thorin kept defensive, allowing Ulfrith to back him across the field but never allowing the full force of the blow to hit him. He would lull the man into thinking he was winning while he tired him out. By the time they reached the far side his method was working. Ulfrith was breathing heavily and his blows were growing far clumsier. He let a slip in his defense open and Thorin pressed the advantage. Before Ulfrith could catch his breathe he was the one being backed up. Ulfrith growled and closed again, trying to lock shields and use his weight to force Thorin to the ground. Thorin anticipated the move and spun away. This time, instead of backing away he came back at Ulfrith with another spin that had him under Ulfrith’s defense.

He debated toying with the arrogant human but decided against it. He thrust forward with a quick slash to Ulfric’s leg and knocked him to the ground.

The crowd roared and the squire rushed forward. Thorin’s sword arm was forced over his head. He had won his first tournament.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

Bilbo fidgeted on his cushion again and watched as the two knights took up their position for the final joust of the tournament. Sir Bloom and Sir Oakenshield.  

“Well, it should be entertaining at the least.” Bofur declared as he watched the announcers step to the center field.

“Of course, though I’d wager Sir Oakenshield has the advantage.” Bofur laughed and gave Bilbo a look that let him know he wasn’t fooled by his apparent nonchalance.

“He’ll have your attention then?” It was innocently asked, but Bilbo knew the question was anything but. He turned to tell his friend that the _match_ and not _Thorin_ would have his attention but he was interrupted. Again.

“I present to you, Lord Smaug.” The irritating elf servant stepped aside and let his master take the seat next to Bilbo’s again.

“Master Baggins,” He purred. Bilbo only just controlled his shiver of disgust at the sound. It made him feel ill all over. He'd never had a suitor have that affect on him, and he'd had some truly dreadful suitors. 

“Gelek menu caragu rukhs. (You smell like Orc dung.)” Bofur muttered at his side and Bilbo brightened at the colorful khuzdul curse. He nodded his head in blatant agreement and grinned when Smaug frowned. Bilbo was proud to know some basic khuzdul. He was rubbish at speaking it, but he could understand enough that Bofur could discuss things and give him information that no one else would understand.

“I trust you are well?” Smaug questioned while Bilbo cursed his Baggins side that would not let him rudely ignore the question. Darn his polite breeding.

“As ever.” The announcer for Sir Bloom droned on and on about the impressive qualities and achievements of his master. It was informative but horribly dry and had Bilbo stifling a yawn. Bofur had leaned back in his seat and tipped his hat over his eyes in a pretend snooze.

Finally Thorin’s young dwarf strolled out to the center of the field and looked around with a smile and soft nod. He gave an elaborate bow before standing up and spreading his arms wide.

“My lords, my ladies!” he had a pleasant voice and spoke loud enough that none would have a problem hearing him. It was surprisingly booming for so small a person. The dwarf abruptly spun around and indicated all the non nobles on the other side of the field. “And everybody else here not sitting on a cushion!”

The responding roar from the crowd was nearly deafening. It was a …gutsy move to say the least. No one ever acknowledged the fact that non noble stock attended these things. Bilbo was quite certain he like the dwarf, and Bofur certainly did if the prideful smile he was giving him was any reference.

He turned his attention back to the nobles and opened his mouth… and began to sing.

“ _The Lords of Yore taught many a skill,_  
 _Through written works and endless drill_  
 _So in places deep where dark things sleep_  
 _They would send Sir Thorin to make them still_

 _For ancient King and Elvish Lord_  
 _Motive for honor is the golden hoard_  
 _Yet these  naught does our knight care to reap_  
 _Only for just to be brought by his sword._ ”

“How exciting,” Bilbo bubbled, scooting forward in his seat. Bofur grinned at him and elbowed his side. He adored epics and sagas and songs. 

“Finding more reasons to cheer on Sir Thorin?” Bofur asked and Bilbo didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t blushing. Ori had written an entire song for Thorin. That was something that Bilbo had never heard anyone else do. It made Thorin stand out a lot more and seem more of a threat to his competition. The young orator also had quite some skill. He had a lovely tenor and glowed with happiness as he wove his tale of Thorin's rise to greatness.

“ _So now to victory Thorin rides_  
 _Aboard Beorn he will glide_  
 _To victory, honor, and golden hoard_  
 _His victory, you’re entertainment will provide.”_

Ori bowed to thunderous applause and Thorin rode up to the starting line. Ori jogged back to the other dwarrows and received a high five from the brunette.

“That was most impressive.” Someone behind Bilbo murmured.    
"Have you seen him fight, milord?" The elf servant asked Smaug. Smaug nodded his pompous head.

"Yes, his style is rudimentary and he has no technique, still, he is fearless." Bilbo, who was barely paying attention to the idiots rambling perked up.

"Indeed? How so?"

Smaug leaned towards him, his eyes still glued to the match. His breath smelt of pipe weed-and not old Toby. It was the nasty type that men used. "The eyes slits on helmets are small, but they can allow splinters through. Knights often lift their head at the last moment to protect their eyes. You will lose sight of your opponent, but you will protect your eyes."

"So," Bilbo mused, feeling more respect for the mysterious knight that had so captured his attention, "He keeps his eyes on his prize." He looked at Bofur who was doing a poor job hiding his grin. "He is a true hunter then." Bilbo could sense Smaug scowling next to him but he paid him no heed as he looked back at the match. Thorin brilliantly broke Bloom's lance. He had only to do it once more and he would be victorious.

Bloom met Thorin in the middle of the field for the final greeting before the end. Thorin graciously took off his helmet while Bloom kept his on. Thorin's brilliant eyes were sympathetic as Bloom spoke and he nodded his head. He rode back to his side of the field as Bloom, visibly favoring his right side, returned to his own. Thorin said something to the brown-haired dwarf who then ran onto the field with a white flag.

"Why is Kili calling a draw?" Bofur questioned. Bilbo filed the brown-haired dwarf's name away for later.

"He calls a draw?" Smaug questioned. "Why? Bloom is clearly injured. He should finish him off and claim his complete victory."

"Why? Thorin wins by default as he has more victories than Bloom. I see no point in his inflicting further disgrace on someone he has already beaten." Bilbo held Smaug's gaze until the other was forced to look away. Bilbo's guardian had taught him how to hold a gaze since he was young. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel had only helped him improve the skill through the years.

"Mercy is always a weakness.” Bilbo ignored his final comment and focused on applauding.

"Will you be attending the tournament at Lothlorien?" Smaug asked, changing the subject as Thorin rode a victory lap with his servants whooping behind him. It was refreshing to see someone else who was as close to their servants as Bilbo was to Bofur.

"I suspect I shall. My guardian enjoys them and always takes the chance to see the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn." Bilbo kept his eyes on the field encase Thorin looked his way. He wanted to look at his piercing eyes again. They were incredible, unlike any other humans he had seen. And his voice! Crumpets and custard, Bilbo could listen to him talk forever. He couldn't wait to hear the knight rumble his name. The thought of him whispering it against Bilbo's ear had kept him awake at night.

"Then I shall see you there as I am competing in it. Rest assured, I shall win it for you." He rose and left with his elf servant trailing behind him.

"I do not know of one redeeming quality in that elf." Bilbo muttered quietly. His pulse picked up slightly as Thorin turned the corner so that he was heading in the direction of their stand. It was part of the route he had to ride, but he would draw near.

"I can think of one." Bofur said cheerfully. Bilbo tore his gaze away from Thorin for that.

"What?"

"He is leaving." Bilbo was helpless against the laugh that bubbled up in him at that and it escaped him before he even realized it.  Thorin slowed his mount at the sound and Bilbo felt his heart start to pitter patter in his chest. Thorin removed his helmet and shook his hair back, clearing his face. He winked pronouncedly at Bilbo. He reached into a pouch on his hip and drew out a small bundle that he tossed at Bilbo before riding away. Bilbo reflexively caught the bundle and kept his eyes on Thorin till he had ridden away. He dropped his eyes to the package, aware that Bofur was staring at him.

Bilbo’s hands were trembling a bit. He swallowed thickly and opened the knit square of cloth clumsily to reveal a small, wooden box. There was a button at the center that he pressed. He could hear gears turning and then it popped open to reveal a tiny, wooden, daisy. Bilbo gasped at the small flower and gently lifted it out of the box. It had been carved and painted with obvious attention to detail.

“Oh,” He murmured, “it’s lovely!” Bofur grinned knowingly and helped guide the very distracted Hobbit out of the stands.

He’d have to learn more about this knight who seemed so intent on capturing his best friend’s heart.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

"Take this and do whatever you did with the others." Thorin said, tossing the miniature eagle (what was with the strange prizes?) to Kili who turned it over in his hands a few times. He looked about as confused by it as Thorin felt.

"We've got to pay the gamblers off and give Dwalin some money for materials. Balin needs more bandages as well, 'cause someone, who shall rename nameless, keeps getting hit with long pointy sticks." Kili paused and then gave a vicious grin, "And not in the way you want to with that happy Hobbit of yours."

Thorin glared at his cheeky nephew, and glared at Fili as well for good measure. They were both incorrigible and Fili was laughing far too hard at his brothers jest.

"Yes. We'll get all that and come back. We have to be quick if we want to get to Lothlorien in time. We need to rest Beorn as much as possible."

"Wait, you're skipping town already?" Balin asked as he emerged from the tent. He held the flap open for Dwalin who was holding a mended piece of Thorin’s armor. "You can't. You're the victor. You need to be seen at the feasts."

"And have Smaug laugh at my clothes? No thank you!" Thorin rumbled. He would not go see that elf willingly. Besides, he had nothing but the braies, chauses, and tunic he wore now. They were hardly worthy of a feast. He couldn't very well wear armor to a feast, and that was the only decent thing he owned.

“Someone is coming!” Ori exclaimed, waving his arms manically. The other dwarves instantly went about packing up their supplies in an effort to look busy.

It was Bofur. He looked at the other dwarrows curiously, eyes staying on Dwalin the longest before landing on Thorin again. He smiled cheerfully. “Sir Thorin, my Master wishes to congratulate you on your victory, and inquire as to what you will wear to the feast tonight for he wishes to match.” The dwarf bounced on his feet as he spoke and his braids swayed with the movement.

“He’s not going.” Kili complained, eyes narrowed in annoyance. Thorin stepped forward and glared at his nephew, again.

“Do not speak to question of which you do not know the answer.” Fili snorted and Kili managed to hide his grin behind a cowed expression.

“Sorry, Milord.” He mumbled, only half believingly.

“Squire,” Thorin continued, addressing Balin and trying to ignore the panic he felt, “tell him what I’ll be wearing.”

“Me?” Balin huffed before checking himself and offering Bofur a smile. “Well, let’s see… Sir Thorin will be wearing a...blue tunic.” His eyes locked on something behind Bofur and brightened. “Yes, blue, with a lighter blue accent. Um, black breeches. With-uh-bronze buttons. Anything else?”

Bofur smiled congenially. “No, that’ll be enough to get along with. Thank you. Congratulations on your victory, it was well won.” And with that the curious dwarf spun on his heel and jogged away.

“Mahal have mercy.”  Thorin muttered, his shoulders sinking.

"Nonsense." Balin declared, reaching into his braies and pulling out a small knife. “I think the tunic will shape up quite nicely.” He went at the flap on the tent and Thorin realized where his tunic was coming from. He chuckled.

"I wasn't talking about that. Good idea though.”

“What then?” Balin questioned as he cut off an entire flap.

"I…” Thorin sighed and decided there was nothing for it. It wasn’t like there was any shame in this confession. “Well I can't dance now, can I?"

The dwarrows all froze and looked around at each other. Apparently Thorin was the only one that had thought of that.

“Well we can’t!” Fili and Kili said together. They looked at Ori and raised their eyebrows. Ori frantically shook his head.

“I’m just a scribe and artist. I can make you a lovely scarf to go with your tunic but I can’t dance.”

“I don’t suppose you have any thread with that yarn?” Balin asked as he folded the tent fabric up. Ori nodded his head and took the fabric.

“Dwalin?” Thorin asked, feeling desperate. The older dwarf laughed and shook his head.

“I’m a blacksmith and a warrior, not a dancing fairy.” He tilted his head and huffed, “though I do know an older dwarf who could jig along to a tune or two.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Mind you, he is deaf.”

“Find him.” Thorin ordered. “We haven’t much time-what are you doing, youngling?” Thorin demanded as Ori started walking around him with a string of yarn, mumbling numbers under his breath.

“Taking your measurements, of course. And I'm over seventy.” Thorin sighed and closed his eyes. Mahal save him from his crazy life.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

“Is that the lad?” The dwarf Dwalin knew was indeed older. He had silver hair that bore no braids in it, signifying he was unbound to any elf or human, and he wore two braids in his beard. He had an ear trumpet that seemed to do him very little good, as he continually mis-translated what others were trying to tell him.

“Yes.” Dwalin nodded and pushed the dwarf towards Thorin with a wicked grin. The entire company was watching him with hawk-like intensity and grins that were far too large. They were all enjoying his embarrassment too much.

“Thorin Oakenshield, at your service.” Oin brightened up at the cordial introduction and bowed his head in return.

“Oin son of Groin, at yours.” Oin looked over his shoulder at Fili who was holding the tent shut since they no longer had a flap. Kili was on his other side holding one of the practice swords. Oin eyed him interestedly. “You, the braidless and beardless lad, give me a beat.”

Kili looked mildly insulted to be called beardless but he thumped his wooden sword against the ground in a steady beat that Thorin recognized from the song Ori had written for him.

“Are you certain this will work? Will there even be a need to dance?” Thorin asked as Oin approached him with a mischievous grin. Ori shot his head up and glared.

“I am not stitching together a tunic from a tent with yarn and a surgeon needle so you can get nervous about the dancing.” Ori huffed and held up his needle threatening. It was oddly effective which was something Thorin would think about later. Dwalin patted the small dwarf’s shoulder with a deep laugh.

Thorin took Oin’s hand and set to learning how to dance. Three hours later and he had a new outfit coupled with a fairly decent knowledge of how to dance.

Even if he did tend to step on Oin’s toes.

Kili was helping him lace up the tunic while Fili went about braiding his hair. "You should wear this belt as well.” Ori said, presenting him with a silver knit belt. It had a crown at it’s center, with seven stars surrounding it. “We can use it as the emblem of your house.” Ori fastened it carefully, “should anyone ask.”

“Durin’s symbol?” Thorin asked quietly. The craftsmanship on the belt was remarkable. Ori nodded shyly and tucked the last bit of the belt back. “I shall wear it proudly, Ori.” The dwarf beamed and Thorin felt his own heart swell at the sight of his company working so hard to make him look noble. He was lucky indeed to have such companions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had Ori compose a song for Thorin because songs are widely used in Middle Earth and I think it would look more impressive for Thorin to have a song than just another speech.
> 
> Yes, Dwalin is now a member of their company and I made him a blacksmith (don't tell him his role was originally played by a girl ;) ) 
> 
> Info/ Tranaslation:  
> -A plague upon you son of a troll= a curse used by Gimli in LOTR  
> -Crew= not a place found in Middle Earth. It's a place Will makes up in 'A Knight's Tale'  
> -Gelek menu caragu rukhs= You smell like orc dung. A dwarvish insult that I find highly amusing.  
> -Daisies traditionally represent the following: Innocence, loyalty, love, and beauty.


	6. Chapter 6

“I shall win this tournament for you!” Another young knight declared before he fumbled away.

“I’d give him a two out of five.” Bofur commented as the knight fell into a servant. Bilbo thought the dwarf was being generous.

"He could be a bit more original at least. I've lost count of the number of tournaments won in 'my' name." Bilbo complained. Bofur nodded his head before offering a sly smile.

"Perhaps," he started, keeping his eyes carefully ahead, "you would rather another win the tournament for you? A man with blue eyes and dark hair?"

Bilbo eyed his knowing friend with a frown and cursed his warm cheeks. What he would give to have skin that didn’t flush everytime he was embarrassed! “You are getting far too much pleasure out of this entire affair.”  

Bofur nodded his head, completely unashamed. “You’re the one that asked me to braid the daisy into your hair.“ Bilbo reached up and gingerly touched the braid that had several real flowers woven into it, and was clasped with the bead Thorin had gifted him.

"If you insist on being annoying I'm sure that I can find a pig sty that requires mucking." Bilbo finally retorted. Bofur continued to bounce on his heels, completely unafraid of Bilbo’s threats.

"Please. You would not last a night without me." He declared confidently. Bilbo forgot what his response was going to be, because Thorin finally walked into the room with his blond servant. Bilbo was quite confident his heart missed a beat or two at the sight of him.

Thorin looked...majestic. He was wearing a dark blue tunic that laced up the front and was trimmed in a silvery blue in a complex geometric pattern. He wore black trousers that met black, fur covered boots. His black hair was pulled back in a complicated braid, with little strands of silver drifting through that made him appear even more regal. He had a silver belt that had been knitted with obvious care. And he was so strong! The tunic, though loosely fitted, did little to hide the well built chest and arms.

“Bilbo Baggins,” Thorin murmured when he reached them. Bilbo’s heart fluttered in his chest at the sound of his name in that voice.

“Thorin,” he greeted in return. He was vaguely aware of Bofur and the blond leaving them and it made his chest flutter even more strangely.

“I am afraid I am unaccustomed to this sort of thing.” Thorin confessed, stepping nearer. Bilbo’s breath faltered. Thorin wasn’t used to this? But he was so handsome! Surely he had people dropping at his feet left and right. “It is not often that I attend festivities.”

Bilbo mentally berated himself. Of course Thorin was referring to the festivities. He was reading signs where there weren’t any.

“What does one usually do first?” That question shouldn’t have sounded so attractive. Still, Thorin could probably read an instruction manual and it would cause Bilbo to swoon.

"Well, the meal is served first, and then there is dancing and mingling. It is up to the individual to decide between dancing or mingling, of course."

Thorin gave Bilbo a look that he could only describe as smoldering. “And do you dance, Master Baggins?”

"If the partner is right." Bilbo replied coyly. Far more coyly than he actually felt, in fact. He had never danced with anyone but his instructors and Bofur. He was too timid to dance with the big people, they were so much taller and larger than him. It seemed rather dangerous. Thorin wasn’t dangerously tall though.

"Sorry to interrupt, Milords, but they're seating now." Bofur and the blond came up to them and gestured grandly to the table where servants were leading their masters.

“Thank you, Fili, Bofur.” Thorin said cordially. Bilbo filed the blond’s name away for later use, and felt a swell of admiration at the fact that Thorin knew Bofur’s name, and had remembered it.

"Of course, Sir Thorin, you will sit at my side?"

Thorin inclined his head in gratitude. "Thank you, Master Baggins." He stepped into Bilbo’s space and leaned towards his face with unfathomably bright eyes. "It would be my genuine honor." As he stepped back his hand settled against the small of Bilbo’s back and he gently led the Hobbit to their seats.

The meal was, as always, delicious. Bilbo would have to remember to thank Bombur lately. Bofur’s brother was a truly superb chef.

They kept quiet conversation during the meal until Thorin had finished his meat. He stared at Bilbo with his piercing eyes until Bilbo looked at him in return.

“You remind me of Earendil.” Thorin finally murmured, his voice liquid and dark, flowing through Bilbo and making him shiver despite his confusion.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” He whispered back, to struck with awe to speak any louder. Thorin smiled and his intense eyes softened as he brought his hand closer to Bilbo’s. He stroked a calloused finger along his thumb.

“The light you emit would be enough to guide me on any dark night.” He looked up from the hand he was still stroking and held Bilbo’s gaze with his own. “You shine before me as a beacon that I cannot help but be drawn to.”

\-----oOoOoOo-----

"Why is your master nervous?" Bofur whispered in Fili's ear from their hidden corner of the enormous banquet hall. Fili grinned. Why wouldn't Thorin be nervous? He was hiding several facts, his dwarf-ness, his non-nobility, his desire for Bilbo, and the fact that he had no idea how to act at this sort of thing.

"Thorin, would be angry if I told you," Fili answered truthfully. His Uncle would give him the ‘Disappointed Face’ and Fili hated that face. It was always being aimed at Kili and him.

"Ah, then don’t worry. I will not ask." Fili flashed the cheery dwarf a toothy grin. He liked the goofy dwarf. He was bold and happy, and that was hard to come by. He had a cool hat too.

"Oh, I never said I wouldn't tell. Thorin's embarrassment is all the more reason to tell. He's not really dated all that much, and never someone that was such a remarkable creature. Truth be told, he's not much more than a farmer. His family's noble and all that, but they're all pretty much dead broke."

"So that is the tent fabric?" Fili snorted, causing a nearby elf guard to glare at them. Bofur stuck his tongue out at whoever it was, causing Fili to snort again.

"Got that did ya? I thought that was a rather clever bit of ingenuity on Balin and Ori's side." He shrugged. “Though Dwalin and Oin did a fair bit of work as well.” Bofur’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“To be so poor he has a lot of servants.”

Fili looked back out at his uncle who had caused the Hobbit to blush adorably. “It’s not money. We know he can’t pay us. We just… we’d serve him even if he didn’t have a bed to give us. If he was a homeless vagabond we’d still follow him.”

Bofur studied him silently and Fili allowed the dwarf to. He was probably trying to look out for his own master. “How long have you know him?”

"Thorin?" Fili shrugged his right shoulder. He’d have to lie a bit here. "I've known him since I was a dwarfling. My brother- Kili- and I had been working with a guard. He was drunk at the best and abusive at the worst. Thorin more or less rescued us. He could only afford one but he slaved away until he could buy Kili as well. "

Bofur nodded his head. "I understand. I was in a similar situation. Bilbo’s guardian bought me and my brother and cousin to serve the young Hobbit. He’s become my best friend."

Fili nodded his head and muffled a laugh when Bilbo gently corrected Thorin’s silverware choice. "Oh yeah. It's not 'proper' and all that, but it still happens.” He looked at Bofur who was observing the Hobbit with obvious affection.

"Mahal, but Bilbo is nervous.” He chuckled. “He doesn’t date either. Most people are just astounded to see a Hobbit or’ halfling’ as the elves call him. He doesn’t care for that kind of attention, or they want his station. His guardian is very powerful.”

“I’ve never seen another Hobbit.”

“Well, they don’t often leave their Shire. Bilbo was taken under his guardian’s wing when his parents died. He didn’t fit in with his other Hobbits too well.” Bofur seemed to check himself. “Anyway, he doesn’t date. I’ve only ever seen him go to a feast with someone twice and he’s fifty.”

"That'll make Thorin happy. He was worried about competition."

"He should not." Thorin said something to Bilbo before looking over his shoulder and motioning for Fili to come over. he went quickly, Bofur trailing directly behind him.

“You are welcome to go to the kitchens for your dinner. I had no idea you weren’t allowed to eat until after we’d had our fill.” Fili frowned at that. It had always been Kili’s job to tend Bert at feast. He enjoyed the young dwarf’s look and that was the only time he could get him away from Fili and Thorin. He didn’t like the idea of his younger brother having to have waited to go for dinner. He’d have to ask him about that later.

“Thank you, Milord.” Fili straightened up and stepped back, nearly colliding with Bofur who looked utterly surprised.

“Go on, Bofur.” Bilbo said cheerfully. “Show him the way to the kitchen and get yourself something to eat. I’ll be fine.” He glanced at Thorin and blushed. “You can introduce him to your brother and cousin while you’re down there.”

\-----oOoOoOo-----

Dinner was delicious, the like of which Thorin had never had. He was mostly surprised he’d even been able to notice the taste though, what with Bilbo beside him. The Hobbit was utterly distracting with his round cheeks, soft skin, gold silky hair, and cheerful eyes. He touched Thorin’s hand earlier during the meal to hand him the correct fork, and Thorin had been shocked by how soft and warm the small hand was.

The group of humans, elves, and servants were lead away after the meal to a large dance floor. For the first time that evening, he saw Count Smaug. The knight was tall, ludicrously so, with fiery hair, gold eyes, and high cheekbones. He was the most unusual looking elf Thorin had ever seen, but his eyes seemed to burn with fire.

“Sir Thorin,” He called out across the hall the squires attempted to figure out what song they should play for the dance. Thorin turned his head to peer at the imposing elf and kept his expression neutral. “Why don’t you show us a dance of your people? Show us a dance of Crew.”

A tiny bit of Thorin died in his chest. He could scarcely dance at all. Still, he could not refuse an open challenge.

Mahal save him, this would probably be humiliating.

“Of course.” He rumbled before stepping out and away from Bilbo. “It’s a bit like a Canter.” Bilbo was staring at him intently, his eyes unreadable. Thorin exhaled and decided to just go for it. He would hopefully never see these people again, save for the knights in the tournament and Bilbo.

“First, you bow to your partner.” He bowed to an imaginary partner and nearly tripped on his heels. Curse the wedges and his need for height! Thorin straightened quickly. “And then,” He stepped forward and brought his hands to his left. This wasn’t going to do at all, he looked like an idiot.

Bilbo, Valar bless him, suddenly appeared in front of him and mimicked the move before doing a twirling step that had him at Thorin’s side.

“Places, places!” The squire exclaimed in excitement. The floor was suddenly full of people and Thorin felt a rush of affection for the incredible little Hobbit who took his hands and stood up on his tiptoes to get at Thorin’s ears.

“Dance like it’s a sword fight. Go through your paces and I’ll help you flourish them. No one will know.” The affection turned into gratitude. Sword fighting, now that was something he could do. He took a step to the left with sureness, and his Hobbit matched him. They continued around in an imaginary circle until they were opposite where they had begun. Thorin brought his arm up as if he was going to chop at Bilbo’s arm and Bilbo feinted to the side, ending up with his back to Thorin’s chest. Thorin spun the Hobbit and a moment later they were swept away in an imaginary duel that was full of spins, ducks, and flourishes. They danced around the floor, earning the awed stares of everyone in the crowd. It ended with Bilbo dropping his pretend sword in an elaborate bow.

Thorin bowed in return and grinned as the Hobbit stepped up to him, breathless and smiling with glee at the applause they’d earned. “You are magnificent, Bilbo.” Thorin whispered in his ear. He brushed his hand along the Hobbit’s before taking a step back. “Allow me to fetch you a refreshment.”

“Thank you,” Bilbo said with a blinding smile. Thorin hurried to the refreshment table and took up a glass of some flowery smelling punch. Elves couldn’t even keep flowers out of their drinks, apparently.

He returned to find Bilbo talking with a knight Thorin had beaten in the second round. Bilbo, thankfully, looked quite uncomfortable at the knight’s attention.

"And I shall win the tournament for you!" The knight passionately declared. Thorin stepped between him and Bilbo, offering the drink he had just fetched to the object of his affections.

"Bilbo," he inclined his head to the human. "Sir Talin was it?" The knight flushed slightly before stepping away. He didn't offer a word of greeting before leaving. Thorin turned back to Bilbo and took in his flushed countenance.

"Would you step out to the balcony with me? I find myself desiring the fresh air and solitude it offers."

"Certainly." Bilbo brightened considerably and allowed Thorin to guide him to the balcony. The stars overhead glowed almost as brightly as they had at Bree.

“That one is known as the Fighter to my people,” Thorin whispered next to Bilbo’s ear causing him to jump a foot in the air. He quickly wrapped his arms around Bilbo’s waist to keep him from tumbling over and he found himself with the Hobbit pressed against his chest. He could smell apples and the scent of tea in his hair. There was also the scent of unknown flowers. Thorin’s cheek rubbed against a braid and he looked down in delight to see it was being held in place by the wooden daisy he had made.

“Indeed?” Bilbo stuttered, “which ones?” Thorin brought one of his arms up and pointed the figure out.

“He defends the night sky from unwanted predators. Shooting stars are the bodies of his fallen foes.”

Bilbo studied the stars for a moment before pointing out several in the lower sky. “Those over there connect to make the Leopard, he’s the protector of the Shire. He’s a gifted hunter.” Bilbo’s eyes danced in the starlight with his last comment and Thorin found himself longing to kiss the Hobbit.

He distracted himself with a question"Does that happen often?"

Bilbo’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Does what happen often?” He started and glanced back at the dance hall. "Knights declaring that they will win a tournament in my name?” Thorin nodded. “Yes."

"Does that bore you?" Thorin joked, grinning at the slightly annoyed manner in which Bilbo had just spoken. Biblo regarded him with a raised eyebrow.

"Indescribably."

"Then what would you have them do to win your favor?" Thorin asked with perfect sincerity. Bilbo studied him for a moment before answering.

"I would have them lose. Losing goes against everything, logic, greed, thirst for victory. It requires one to show true desire for another. I believe that it would show a much greater devotion than a victory that adds to their reputation, not mine."

Thorin absorbed that for a moment before smiling. "You're a romantic."

Biblo blushed before turning his gaze towards the garden beneath the balcony. "Perhaps." Music drifted out from the building and Thorin acted on impulse. He turned to fully face Bilbo and offered him his hand.

"Would you have this dance with me, Master Bilbo?" He had his eyes on Bilbo’s hand. It trembled for a moment before Bilbo lifted it up and placed it in Thorin’s hand.

"You may." Thorin stepped closer to Bilbo and looked down to his eyes. Bilbo slipped his hand on Thorin’s shoulder tentatively and he thrilled at the feel of it. He wrapped his arm around Bilbo's waist in turn. Bilbo clasped their joined hands together all the tighter and Thorin began to lead them in slow circles around the edge of the balcony.

"Will you be attending the tournament at Lothlorien?" He whispered the quiet words against Bilbo’s ear and allowed himself a smile at the shiver it earned.

"Yes. Why do you ask?" Thorin pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

"Because I must attend it, and I would find it cold and in the winter if you were not there." Bilbo’s responding smile was so beautiful that Thorin was helpless to resist it. He pressed closer to him and slid his hand up Bilbo’s neck to cup his cheek before bending down and  brushing their lips together, asking permission for a kiss. Bilbo let out a small gasp before melting his mouth against Thorin’s and wrapping his arms around his neck to keep him close. Thorin kept the kiss soft and sweet until he could hold back no longer. He growled low in his throat and flicked his tongue against Bilbo’s bottom lip. The Hobbit trembled in his arms before slowly opening his mouth to Thorin.

A clearing throat robbed Thorin of his chance to explore.

He looked up over the top of Bilbo’s head to see Bofur and Fili standing in the doorway of the balcony, both of the dwarrows fighting a laugh.

“What do you want?” He growled. Bilbo his his face in Thorin’s chest.

“Uh-” Fili started, struggling to speak around his laughter.

“You’ve got to leave.” Bofur explained, his own eyes dancing merrily. “Smaug, the great calamity of our age has just set the guards to looking for Bilbo. I’ll sneak him down to the kitchen where he’ll be safe.”

“Can we not join him?” Thorin questioned, loath to leave just yet. Bofur shook his head.

“I’m afraid not. Bilbo’s guardian will lacerate, eviscerate, and incinerate you if he finds out you were out here dancing unsupervised. You’d best not risk it.”

Thorin nodded his head before turning back to his Hobbit. “Then I bid you farewell, Master Baggin’s.” He reached into his pocket to retrieve the gift he had made for the dear Hobbit. Bilbo stepped back and twisted his hands together.

“I guess it’s just as well. It is time for after dinner tea.”

“Indeed?” Thorin asked with a laugh. he pulled the flower out of his pocket and smiled at the way Bilbo’s eyes lit up at the sight of it. “Perhaps I shall simply save this for a later day then.” Thorin twirled the multi-colored tulip in his hand before slipping it into his pocket. He turned around and made to walk with Fili only to see his nephew laugh a moment later. He looked back at Bilbo and saw the Hobbit twirling the carved flower in his own hands, a triumphant smile on his lips.

“Why, you’re not a meal at all!” Thorin exclaimed with a laugh he could not contain, “you’re a Burglar!” Bilbo blushed and beamed before depositing the flower in his own pocket.

“I hardly think,” he said merrily, “That a single theft should make me a burglar.”

“My dear Burglar,” Thorin breathed as he moved closer to his Hobbit. Bilbo’s breath caught and it made Thorin’s chest flutter, “are you not aware? You’ve also burgled away my heart.” Bilbo shivered as Thorin drew back, and the dwarf felt as if his stomach was full of light, flying things. The Hobbit seemed at an utter loss for words. He reached forward and grabbed his Burglar’s hand in his own. Bringing it up to his mouth slowly, he pressed a kiss to it while keeping his eyes locked on Bilbo’s. He straightened slowly and released the hand. “I shall await you in Lothlorien, my heart.” Then Thorin turned and strode away, quite certain that he was leaving his One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've ever seen someone who is really good with their weapon fight, it's like watching a dance. Some examples off the top of my head are: River Tam in Serenity when she takes on the Reevers, River Song in Doctor Who when she takes on the Silence, Legolas in the Desolation of Smaug, Thorin himself in an Unexpected Journey when he fights the goblins does some gorgeous moves and The White Witch in the Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe when she fights Peter. So yeah, Thorin is going to dance out a fight 'cause that's what he knows. :)


	7. Chapter 7

_Even the wisest cannot see all ends._

* * *

Thorin’s back and side hurt. The back he had no doubt was from the roots he’d been forced to sleep on, the side he feared was from the jousting wound he’d received the previous day. Balin had put some sort of smelly ointment on it, but it still stung with every breath.

“We will rest here for the night.” Thorin slid off Beorn and handed the reign off to Fíli. “Balin, start a fire. Ori, get a supper ready. Kíli, check the perimeter with Dwalin.” The dwarrows scurried off to fill his orders while Thorin unpacked their supplies from Dwalin’s cart. He went to the back and lifted the tarp edge up-

Only to step back in surprise. There were two dwarrows fast asleep. He recognized one as Oin, but he had no idea who the other was.

The younger dwarf, a red-head with a bushy beard and the braids of servanthood, startled awake and blinked blearily at Thorin. He froze suddenly, and then elbowed Oin sharply.

“What is it?” The dwarf huffed before opening his own eyes. He peered out at Thorin and huffed again. “What do you want?”

“To know why you two have stolen away in my cart.”

The ginger dwarf sat up right and glared at Oin. “Oin!” He hissed, shoving him, “you didn’t tell him about us?”

“Thorin Oakenshield meet Gloin, my brother.” Oin deadpanned before rolling back over on his side and falling asleep against Dwalin’s anvil. Gloin blinked at him in disbelief before turning back to Thorin. He blinked slowly two times before scrambling out of the cart. He bowed before Thorin until his beard touched the ground.

“I apologize, my lord.” He stood upright and squared his shoulders. “Gloin, son of Groin, at your service.”

Thorin considered the dwarf for a long moment. They scarcely had the supplies to feed themselves, and he had no money to give to other dwarrows. He still had to pay Ori for his brother, and Dwalin for supplies, and then there was food for Beorn, bandages for the whole lot, and Kíli still needed a new shirt…

And Gloin had the braids of servitude. Thorin was not naive enough to believe the dwarf hadn’t run from his owner. This would be a problem. He knew nothing about these dwarrows. He knew nothing about Ori, save that he was loyal to his family and willing to work to free a brother who was a thief. He knew nothing of Dwalin, save that he was the brother of Balin. He knew nothing of Oin, save that he was deaf, a dancer, and a friend of Dwalin. And now there was Gloin.

Good Mahal, that was seven dwarrows! How had his company of Fíli, Kíli, and Balin doubled in size?

“There is no need to bow before me, Gloin Groinson.” Thorin finally said. He brought his hand to the defiant dwarf’s shoulder. “Welcome to my company. I trust your brother has informed you of all?”

Gloin nodded. “And might I say, it’s a brave thing you do? For that, I will follow you.”

Thorin inclined his head in thanks and then scooped up his pack from the cart. His back still ached and it still hurt to breathe, but he was gaining a lot of loyal dwarrows.

Now he just needed to figure out how to feed them.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

Bilbo’s room was once again gorgeous. He’d only been to Lothlorien once and he’d stayed with his guardian. This time he was residing in the same building as the Lady Galadriel. His guardian had seen that he would have the nicest room he could manage.

It was terribly empty. There were no books, no quilts, no plants, and no sketches. It lacked everything Bilbo so longed for.

“Well, this is… clean.” Bofur commented before dropping his pack to the floor and jumping up on the bed. He bounced twice on it before dropping and laying back. Bilbo smiled slightly at the exuberance but it didn’t lift his spirit. He just felt depressed.

“Beards and bothers, I didn’t think you’d get hit so quickly.” Bofur commented from the bed.

“Hit so quickly?” Bilbo inquired quietly. He dropped his pack to the floor and clammered up onto the bed beside his friend. “What are you talking about? And budge over.”

Bofur shuffled over before tipping his hat down to cover his eyes. “You. You’re already lovesick and you’ve barely met the lad.”

Bilbo blushed and promptly ignored him. Bofur peeked out from under his hat and grinned. “I’m just kidding. Still, you do look sad.”

“Just missing the Shire.”

“The tournament starts tomorrow, that should help.” Bofur shrugged. “It’ll give you something to do at least.”

“Right. Smaug’s competing this time so I shouldn’t have to talk to him so much.”

“Does Thorin seem odd to you?” Bofur blurted out before clamping his hand over his mouth. Bilbo stared at him wide eyed, his heart speeding up.

“How?” Bofur flushed and fidgeted.

“Forget I said anything.”

“No,” Bilbo poked Bofur’s side. “I want to hear it. Come on now.”

Bofur sighed long sufferingly and pushed his hat up. He sat upright and propped his hands on his knees. “I can’t say what it is exactly, but, he’s odd. Firstly, I’ve never heard of Crew, and his dwarrows are very loyal.”

“Is that so strange?” Bilbo asked, thinking of his own relationship with Bofur. Bofur nodded his head.

“Very. You have people like us who are friends, but on the most it’s unheard of. Dwarrows hold grudges easily and most masters are not nice. Besides, he has more dwarrows working for him every time I look over but he has no money.”

Biblo’s brow furrowed. That didn’t make any sense. “So they’re slaves?”

Bofur shook his head. “No, Fíli told me that they’re very loyal to Thorin. And you can see that loyalty. But they’re also tightlipped.” He explained at Bilbo’s confused frown. “They won’t chat about their lives and home.” Bofur tilted his head and scratched his beard. “Thorin also walks funny.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“You’re too busy looking at his arse to notice what his feet are doing.” Bofur didn’t even laugh at Bilbo’s scandalized blush. That more than anything else let Bilbo know  Bofur was serious. Bofur huffed and shook his head. “I’ll figure it out whatever it is. Still, I like him.”

And that was all Bilbo needed.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

“Sir Thorin Oakenshield!” Ori bellowed before jogging back to Thorin’s sideline. Thorin took up his lance and nodded his head to Ori. The squire lowered the flag and Thorin charged forward. This was remarkably easier with each pass. Having Bilbo in the audience didn’t hurt. He could hear the Hobbit’s cheers and they warmed a place deep inside his chest that he thought would only ever be dark.

There was also the support of the many dwarrows he now had. Gloin and Oin were cheery and knew a lot of drinking songs that they were all too happy to share. They’d spent each night of their travel playing their instruments and singing till the early hours.

It had been glorious, and made the ache in Thorin’s chest for a home all the stronger. That was his goal now. He would buy land and build a home for his people. He would welcome all dwarrows there, and they would defend it against anything. Even a dragon would not drive him away. He would die before he saw his people homeless again.

His lance knocked Lord Ulrich right off his horse. Thorin raised what was left of his lance up into the air and rode back to his side, savoring the cheer of his people. He’d already been approached by two dwarrows who had offered him their services if he ever found himself requiring it.

He wasn’t sure how they had heard of who he was, and that worried him more than he cared to admit. None of his current dwarrows had told anyone, and they hadn’t had contact with anyone else.

“Give a bow and then we’re off to the sword rink.” Fíli stated as he helped Thorin off Beorn.

“My boot is loose, I’m afraid a wave will have to suffice.” Kíli knelt down and tightened the boot while Thorin waved before ushering him over to the sword rink. Ori rushed out to introduce him and Thorin focused on making sure his armor was tight. He was so involved on his armor that he didn’t hear anyone approach.

“Sir Oakenshield?” Thorin’s head snapped up to find a blushing Hobbit in front of him. He had two braids now, the daisy and tulip woven into them. It made Thorin’s heart thump hard to see them.

“Master Bilbo.” Thorin reached out and took his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and relishing in the shy smile it earned him. “Please call me Thorin.”

“Then I must insist on Bilbo in return, Thorin.” Thorin stood straight and nodded.

“As you wish, Bilbo.” Bilbo reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief that he held out to Thorin.

“If it pleases you, I should like it very much if you would wear this favor while you fight.”

Thorin reached out and gingerly took the silk handkerchief. The fabric was smooth beneath his calloused finger and felt cool to the touch. He tucked it inside his cuirass by his heart. “It will be a great honor to wear your favor.”

Bilbo grinned and bounced on his heels before taking a tiny step back. “Right. I’ll just. Um. Go now, thank you.” Bilbo turned and made to leave but Thorin, in an impulsive moment, reached out and took his hand again. He leaned down and pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Bilbo before moving his mouth to the Hobbit’s ear.

“Will you join me for dinner at my tent tonight? You may bring Bofur. All my dwarrows will be there so you need not worry about your reputation.”

Bilbo swallowed as Thorin pulled back. His eyes were bright and he looked so very happy.

“I’d love to, Thorin.” He pressed a kiss against Thorin’s cheek and ran back to the sidelines.

Thorin had no idea how he won the match.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

Thorin’s tent was… homey. It was cluttered with all sort of little things, and there were seven dwarrows living in it with him. Fíli, Kíli, and Balin had been with him the longest and the bond the three shared with Thorin was obvious, as was his affection for them. Dwalin was related to Balin, who was also a blacksmith. Oin and Gloin were siblings and Bilbo wasn’t sure what they did. Ori was unbelievably cheerful and got on well with Bofur. He was also quite a knitter and presented Bilbo with a beautiful pair of hand warmers when he arrived.

Though they only had one chair in the tent they’d rolled logs in front of the fire outside the tent and laid furs out around the logs so that they’d have something to sit on. Oin had cooked some sort of meat stew that was delicious even if Bilbo wasn’t sure what it was. (He thought he’d heard Dwalin say it was Warg but that had to be wrong.)

Which is why Bilbo now found himself sitting next to Thorin in front of a fire. The trees blocked most of the stars from overhead and made the forest seem darker than it actually was. Several of Thorin’s dwarrows had pulled out instruments, and Thorin was plucking at a little wooden harp. They were playing a lively tune that had Bilbo tapping his foot. Fíli and Kíli were dancing around merrily, pulling the other dwarrows in every so often.

They acted like a family.

“You seem very kind to your dwarrows.” Bilbo observed without judgment. Thorin nodded his head stiffly and looked out at where Bofur was doing a jig with Fíli and Kíli. The affection in his eyes made Bilbo’s chest ache.

“I have been short all my life. Humans can be quite cruel about such things. I have been called more degrading things than one can imagine. As such, I try to take care of any who have offered me kindness.” He studied Bilbo out of the corner of his eyes. “These dwarfs have stayed loyal to me through many a hardship. I would not see any ill done upon them.”

“They’re your friends.” Bilbo stated the words as a fact and Thorin looked as though it was all he could do to nod.

“Aye. They are my friends.”

“I’ve always thought we had treated them unfairly. They’re forced servitude is a blight upon Middle Earth. Just because they are without a land to call their own does not mean they should serve in others.”

Thorin looked at Bilbo as if he had never truly seen him before. Bilbo didn’t know what to do with the heavy stare but return it.

“You are incredible, Bilbo.” Thorin finally murmured.  “The Shire must be a grand place indeed to produce men such as you.”

“I’m not great.” Bilbo insisted, looking back at the fire. The flames flickered against the wood in the dark night and Bilbo almost could imagine they were dancing. “I just see things differently than most.” Bilbo gave his head a tiny shake and sat up straighter, thrilling when it resulted in his arm pressing against Thorin’s.  “How was your journey over?”

“Treacherous.” Thorin answered with a rumbling laugh that Bilbo could feel through his entire body.

“How so?”

“We were attacked by three wargs.” He indicated the furs they sat on top of. “The remains of which you’re sitting on.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and he let out a gasp.

“My goodness, how dangerous!”

Thorin shrugged. “We were well prepared. Fíli, Kíli, Dwalin and myself are quite skilled with our blades.”

“I fear Bofur and I would have perished should that have happened to us.”

Thorin frowned. “Don’t you travel with guards?” Bilbo nodded.

“Of course! But they don’t like me, and they hate Bofur. They’d probably just let us die.” He chuckled but Thorin looked anything but amused. He dug into the pack at his side and pulled out some cloth wrapped object.

“Here you go, Burglar.” Thorin said as he handed it to Bilbo. Bilbo took the package with a silly little grin. He loved that nickname. “It was one of my prizes for sword fighting. I’m afraid it’s too small for me, but it should be perfect for you.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo breathed. He unwrapped the bundle and gasped at how handsomely made the Hobbit sized sword was.

“I can’t imagine how difficult it must be to fight as well as you do.” He trailed a finger along the sword Thorin had gifted him. It was a pretty little thing, shaped like a leaf as it was. He wondered vaguely what the writing along it’s hilt might mean, but the majority of his mind was focused on Thorin.

“It’s not hard to teach.” Thorin stated and he stood up with a whoosh of fur. He offered Bilbo his hand. Bilbo set the sword aside gently and took Thorin’s large, warm hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. “The learning is the difficult part. I should be most happy to teach you, if you truly want to learn.” Bilbo grinned and nodded his head. Thorin’s eyes brighten and Bilbo found himself getting lost in their incredible depths. He could just stare at them forever. There were so many different shades of blue, and some silver, and even a little green- though it was only visible if you got close.

“With this thing?” Bofur asked. He picked the sword up and hit it against the cold dirt. Bilbo tore his gaze away from Thorin’s, blushing again, and looked at Bofur.

“You’ll blunt my sword.” Bilbo warned reflexively. He was working as hard as he could to appeared relaxed in front of Thorin.

“But your sword is already blunt, milord.” Bofur replied and it took Biblo a horrifying minute to work out what he meant. Fíli and Kíli were snickering at his side and Bilbo wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. Though, with Bilbo’s luck, he’d probably just run into Goblins.

“You are horrible.” Bilbo declared and turned back to Thorin. His cheeks burned terribly and he couldn’t quite meet Thorin’s eyes.

“I should like to become more acquainted with his sword, blunt or not.” Thorin murmured and Bilbo discovered his cheeks could get hotter. Valar, just take him now. He was surely about to die of embarrassment anyway.

And then he realized what Thorin said and his heart nearly stopped.  Thorin stepped in towards him before bending down and pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Take up your new sword, Burglar.” He stepped back and unsheathed his own weapon, a light in his eyes that had Bilbo scrambling to pick up his own weapon. He didn’t know if he’d learn how to defend himself, but something told him the lessons were going to be incredible.

\-----oOoOoOo-----

“Thorin.” Balin’s presence was always unmistakable to Thorin. He didn’t even have to look up from the sword he was cleaning to know he was near.

“Balin?”

“You have to tell him.” That made Thorin look up from the sword. Cleaning was one of the few tasks that he did without thought. It had always allowed him to clear his mind. Balin knew that. Surely he knew why Thorin was bothering to clean his sword. “You can’t let him have your heart until he knows.” Balin squeezed his shoulder and left him to his cleaning and thoughts.

The problem was that Thorin was fairly certain Bilbo already had his heart, and he had no idea how to tell him that he was not a noble man, but a servant dwarf. That he was fairly certain that Bilbo was his One.

Surely the Hobbit would hate him.


	8. Chapter 8

Thorin could taste his anger, and it wasn’t the first time. He hated elves. Especially the one in front of him.

“What,” he growled, “do you want?” The pompous elf had beaten him. What else did he want? He had secured first place in the jousting tournament .The most Thorin could work for in Lothlorien was second place now. He could feel his dwarrows dropping the tasks they had been tending to and drawing near him.

He didn’t deserve their loyalty. He couldn’t do anything for them. He couldn’t even beat a simple elf. How could he provide them a meal when he couldn’t even win a simple tournament.

“I wanted to let you know that the victory dance shall be mine this time, which means I shall have my choice of partners.” he leaned forward and leered. “I hear that Hobbits are excellent dancers. I think I shall have him.”

Thorin’s hands fisted at his side. Aside from the fact that he did _not_ want this troll of an elf anywhere near Bilbo, he very much disliked the wording. Have him? Thorin would flay the elf alive if he tried anything more than a polite bow. “Bilbo dances with whom he pleases.”

“And you think he will please for you?” Smaug asked, straightening with a laugh. “You who are not victorious? No. Hobbits treasure lifes pleasures. You can no longer provide them.” He laughed again and Thorin stepped forward without thought. His vision narrowed to only encompass Smaug, and everything else seemed to disappear. He would not stand by while Bilbo was threatened.

“When next we meet, you will look up at me from the flat of your back.” Thorin promised.

Smaug glared at him with his terrible gold eyes and they seemed to burn with molten liquid. “I am fire! I am death! You could no sooner defeat me than you could keep the sun from burning! No! There is no world where you could ever be victorious. Go now, despair in solitude. I have a prize and dance to collect.”

He swept away before anyone could say another word.  Thorin felt his blood pound through his veins, thundering in his ears and tinting his vision red. His muscles hummed with the repressed rage and his body trembled with the urge to dive after the elf and destroy him.

Balin’s hand came on his shoulder and Thorin shook. His vision was red and rage was pushing at every part of his conscious, begging to be released so he could destroy the man who had taken his prize and threatened his Hobbit. Threatened his _One_.

“Thorin,” Balin snapped, in the manner of one who had spoken several times and was getting tired of being ignored.  “You can’t-” Thorin shook the arm off and pushed forward. Four more hands grabbed at him and tugged him back. He fought against them, his blood singing for him to protect his love, his One.

Bilbo.

Dwalin stepped in front of him along with Gloin, and they, along with Fili, Kili, and Ori, brought Thorin to the ground. He fought against them, but he wasn’t a match for their combined weight. He finally lay still and bellowed his rage at the air.

“Thorin!” Balin repeated. “You have to come back to us. You cannot go into the blood fever!” Thorin thrashed his head. His blood _burned_. They couldn’t understand. He needed to protect Bilbo, he needed to be free! “You will be of no use to Bilbo like this. Finish your last joust and go to the feast. Guard him there. If you try and harm Smaug you will be disqualified at the least and discovered at the worst.”

Thorin’s head fell back with a loud thud and he closed his eyes as tight as he could. He clenched his fist and welcomed the pain of his nails digging into his palm. It was the only distraction from the fire that raged through him. He would fight the last joust and win. He would attend the feast and protect his hobbit.

-[]-[]-[]-

Something was up. Bofur was not the smartest of dwarrows, but he could tell when something wasn’t right.

And something was most definitely not right.

It was Thorin and Smaug. Bofur would gladly proclaim that he liked the former, and would pick him over the latter on any occasion. The man was bold in fighting, fearless in his conviction, and unfailingly kind to his dwarrows (of which he now had another… he seemed to have another one every time Bofur looked.)

There was just something not quite right about the human. He couldn’t pin it down, and watching him didn’t help ease the niggling concern. He was familiar somehow, and utterly unusual in another manner. And Bofur had never met another ‘master’ who was as close to his dwarrows as Bilbo was to him.

No. He couldn’t place what wasn’t right with Thorin, but he could with Smaug.

The elf disgusting and creepy. He wanted Bilbo solely so he could say he’d slept with each race, and because it was so obvious that Thorin was smitten with the hobbit. He wanted to destroy the man’s heart while procuring favor with the other tournament heads who admired Bilbo.

He clearly didn’t realize that Bilbo’s guardian would have his head if he touched a single hair on the hobbit’s head. Not to mention what Lord Elrond, Lady Galadriel, and Bofur would do to the elf.

But he couldn’t do anything right now. He had to stand by the back with the rest of the servants and watch the lords and ladies dance. Fili,  Kili, and Ori all accompanied Thorin this time.

Bilbo was having to dance with Smaug, and while it made Bofur want to pound the nearest table, he was nothing compared to Thorin. Fili and Kili were both holding him back, leaving the third dwarf, Ori, to do the actual serving. He was a rather nice dwarf, and extremely clever.

“Oh, Mahal,” Ori squeaked when Smaug dipped Bilbo and Thorin nearly broke free from the brothers grasp. He stepped a bit closer to Bofur and shoved his gloved hands into his jacket. “He’s just taunting him.”

“That’d be my opinion as well.” Ori started and turned his head, eyes wide as he looked at Bofur who returned the gaze with a tight smile. His grip on his pipe tightened when Smaug moved a hand to brush across Bilbo’s face. He could see his hobbit tense even from this side of the room.

“I don’t even know why he’s bothering.” Ori added after a moment.

“Because he wants to get a rise. What I don’t understand is the reaction. It’s a dance. A single occurrence. Thorin has got to know that Bilbo would never consent to anything with that elf. His guardian would turn Smaug into a toad for even asking his hand.”

“I don’t think he’s thinking terribly clearly right now.”

And that was what confused Bofur. A normal lord of the court would simply act disinterested-the reaction was obviously what was spurring Smaug on-but Thorin was falling for every touch. Bilbo was patiently appearing disinterested, and even though Bofur could see the occasional cringe, it was a convincing act.

Thorin’s reaction was almost dwarflike. It was the way Bombur had reacted when his wife had been forced to serve another man and the male would get a bit handsy.

“Nope. I would say he wasn’t using his brain. Got to give it to Fili and Kili though, they’ve got a lot of strength.”

“More like practice.” Ori fidgeted and frowned at the musicians. “Honestly, did Smaug pay them off? This piece should have ended three times by now.” Bofur turned his gaze to the musicians who were finally drawing to a close. Smaug finished the dance with one last twirl and tug that resulted in Bilbo falling into his chest. Bilbo promptly pushed himself back only for his hand to get captured by Smaug’s. The smug elf bent down and pressed a slow kiss to the ensnared palm, his odd eyes locked on Bilbo’s.

Bofur stepped forward. He started towards Bilbo’s side as the hobbit wrenched free and headed off the dance floor. Thorin tore himself free from the two dwarrows (who had put up one more of a valiant fight) and made straight for  the hobbit. They met in the back and Bilbo instantly took Thorin’s hand. They said something and, before Bofur, Fili, Kili, or Ori could quite reach them, they were gone.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo didn’t stop walking until they were in the stables. The only servant ran off with nothing but a glance at Thorin. It would have amused him if he did not feel such a keen need to hit Smaug. Once they were at the back in front of a stall. Bilbo turned around and regarded Thorin. The horse whinnied and Bilbo draped his right arm across his chest, holding his left arm. The spot where Smaug had held him.

Thorin wanted to vomit.

“We’re alone now… Mind telling me why you’re so upset?”

“It should have been my victory. It should have been my dance.” Thorin needed to get out. He needed to run and rid his body of the adrenaline that was pounding through him. He felt trapped in the stable. Trapped by his inability to do absolutely anything.

“It was just a joust, Thorin. There will be others.”

“You don’t understand!” Thorin raged. He stomped up and down the small stall that the horses were kept. “I have to win!”

“But you didn’t. You will next time,” Bilbo’s small hand reached out for Thorin’s arm and Thorin couldn’t hold it in any more. The fear, the rage, the stress, it was all too much. He roared at the sky and punched the wall behind him, startling Bilbo and the horse. It reared back in fright and kicked out. Thorin, fearing for Bilbo’s life, surged forward and knocked the Hobbit to the ground. The horse caught him in the back and kicked him forward. Thorin stumbled forward onto the fence, right at his sword. He fell into it with a loud and painful clatter and felt his shoes fall off. Thorin knocked his head against the hay covered floor and let out a bellow of pain.

Bilbo gasped in shock and Thorin felt his entire world crash around him in the matter of a heartbeat as he moved his bootless foot. He could feel the wedge tied to his left foot. The right one was bare.

His Hobbit knew.

Thorin breathed in through his nose, and then coughed out blood. Curse it all, he had reacted to harshly. He should have kept his control. This wouldn’t be happening if he could control his temper. He gingerly pushed himself up, wincing as it put pressure on his injured arm.

“Thorin? What-what is this?” Thorin closed his eyes briefly, gathering his courage, before he turned and looked at his Burglar. The Hobbit had his boot in his left hand, and the wedge in his right hand.

“It is what it appears to be.” Thorin said gravely. He spit the blood out of his mouth and ran his tongue over his teeth. They were all accounted for. He swallowed thickly and moved his torn tunic off his shoulder, revealing his dwarf brand. The mark right over his heart. The mark he had covered more often than not with Bilbo’s handkerchief. “I am no man. I am a dwarf.”

Bilbo’s eyes widened and he stumbled back. The look on his face was one Thorin would never wish to see again. It spoke of pain and betrayal, disbelief and terror. “You’re-what?”

Thorin dropped his hands to the hay covered floor. He ached. “I am a dwarf. My master died of an overtaxed heart in a joust. I took his place in the last round and achieved victory. I decided that I could continue the act, and feed my… feed the other dwarrows. I could earn money enough to provide them a home and freedom they had long been denied.”

Bilbo dropped the boot. It was louder than the clash of a joust hitting another knight. “You’ve lied to me this entire time?”

“I did not intend on ever finding you. I meant only to provide for my dwarrows.” He risked a look at Bilbo but it made the dull ache in his bones feel more like a fire. He had to look down. “You were a complication I could never have predicted. I would not have lied to you, had I realized you were my One.”

Bilbo took another step back, heading towards the exit. Thorin’s heart panicked. He felt like he was choking on a thick smoke.

“I should never have left my home.” Bilbo murmured, his eyes half wild in the flickering torch light. Thorin closed his eyes and clenched his fist against the urge to rush after Bilbo. The hobbit had every right to be terrified. He pushed himself up slowly and took a step away. Towards the woods at the back of the stable. He hoped it would calm Bilbo down.

“Bilbo, please. It was not my intention to hurt you. I am trying to find a home.”

“What do you know of home?” Bilbo snapped. “You don’t have one! You’ve _never_ had one. You just wander about and steal all that you can without a care for anyone! I wish I had _never_ met you!”

Thorin  reeled back, feeling for all the world as if Bilbo had just struck him. He turned away from Bilbo and looked at the trees in the distance. He deserved to be hit. He had broken the trust of the precious Hobbit, but surely he could understand how deeply his words stung. There was nothing Thorin desired more than home. Nothing he longed to provide for his dwarrows more. Nothing he had failed at obtaining so brilliantly as a home. Now Bilbo flaunted that failure at him and it stung more than a knife wound ever could. The dismissal and proclamation of his failure was the worse wound the hobbit could ever inflict on him. Balin was right. The hobbit would break his heart.  Yet even his friend could not have prepared him for this pain. It felt like the world was losing color before his eyes. His blood no longer felt warm beneath his skin and his head pounded with a pain that could not be described. He felt acutely aware of each breath and every exhale seemed to pound home the fact that he had failed his dwarrows, and that his love had declared him unworthy.

That he wished he’d never even met him.

Thorin spoke without being aware of what he was saying. “Then you should return to your Shire, Burglar. Return to the home you long for.”

And then Thorin left the stable and his bleeding heart behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... not the happiest chapter. Sorry! I'll update asap. :)


	9. Chapter 9

Thorin tore through the ranks of Mirkwood with a focused intent that scared his dwarrows. He threw himself into his training without a words spoken.

There were no words to be spoken. Nothing could be said. He had failed his dwarrows once, he would not again. He would win every challenge placed before him. It would be enough to pay of Ori’s debts and after the tournament in Dale, they would have enough to buy a place. He could provide for the dwarrows he had gathered, and possibly for others. A safe place for non sold dwarrows to reside. A place that could eventually grow. Thorin would dedicate what was left of his life to making it a reality. If he was doomed to live in a world that was without color, he would make sure that no other would go without a home.

For Thorin there was no hope. The one being that could have given him a home had told him he was not worth meeting.

Thorin turned his attention to the sword fight he had just won and hefted his sword into the sky. Fili belted something at his side and his dwarrows cheered. His nephew led him out of the ring and helped him get the helmet off.  He was given a piece of something shiny-he couldn’t quite see clearly enough to make out what it was-and he tossed it to Ori.

Kili joined them and both his nephews led him into the tent. Balin’s eyes locked on him, but Thorin ignored the heavy gaze. He had nothing to say.

After the second joust Kili had begged him to try talking to Bilbo, but Thorin could not. He’d tried to think of how to let the Hobbit know he was true in his intentions, that he had never meant to harm him, but he couldn’t think of anyway but losing. The hobbit had mentioned that someone losing for him would prove their devotion far more than winning.

But Thorin couldn’t lose. If it was just his welfare, he’d lose without hesitation, and he’d do it spectacularly. It wasn’t just his fate though.  He had so many dwarrows depending on him.

Not to mention the rumors that had started to spread among his people.

Everywhere he looked he could see dwarrows whispering to each other. They spoke of the rumor, of the dwarf that had managed to win the tournament.  Just the other day he’d heard someone singing about the great dwarf in khuzdul. He’d brought hope back to his people.  He couldn’t risk all of that just for his heart.

“I, um, have news.” Gloin said delicately as he entered the tent. He risked a quick glance at his brother who raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

“What of?” Balin asked. Thorin went about removing his armor. He had two hours before his next jousting match. He would not spend it sweating and miserable in the ill-fitted armor.

“Umm… Well…” Gloin fidgeted and Thorin had to repress the urge to roll his eyes. It couldn’t be that bad. “Smaug has withdrawn from the competition.”

For a moment, Thorin’s hands stopped working and he dropped the helmet.  The thud it made as it hit the floor drew the attention of every dwarrow in the room. Thorin let out a deep breath and fisted his hands. He tried to maintain a cool demeanor but he didn’t need a mirror to know he was failing. Badly. This simply could not be. He could not have that bad of luck. The piece of goblin filth had cost him his love and now Thorin would not even have the chance to defeat him? The coward had run?

He wanted to hit something. Hard. He wished he had found this out before the sword match. He had two hours before he could release his rage. He couldn’t even shout. He focused on breathing in and out, the steady rhythm giving him something to release his energy on. His legs trembled and his hands shook and he was lowering himself onto one of their logs that acted as a chair as quick as he could. He sat straight and fisted his hands on his knees while continuing to breathe evenly. Balin, Fili, and Kili were walking towards him tentatively and he briefly wondered what his face was doing to give them such wary looks.

“Why?”

“Because his father has recalled him home to defend the northern borders.”

It could not even be because of simple cowardice. It had to be battle.

“I am sorry.” Gloin murmurred. Thorin shook his head and un belted his sword. It clattered to the ground and Thorin let it.

“This changes nothing. If anything it makes our path easier. We will continue on as planned. Ori, do you yet have enough for your brother?”

Ori’s eyes widened at being addressed and he stepped back. His hand flew to his purse and he tugged it open. He ran his fingers through it, counting the number of coins. “Yes… I-I think this will be enough with what my other brother has managed to gather.”

“I thought he was in prison?”

“He has two brothers.” Dwalin, to Thorin’s surprise, answered. Ori smiled at him and gave his head a nod.

“My middle brother is a thief. He steals trinkets for money to feed us. He was caught by an elf lord, but my oldest brother, Dori, took the blame. Nori and  I, my middle brother, have been attempting to get the funds.”

“So that will be two dwarrows, not one?”

Ori nodded his head and looked even more worried. Thorin counted through the number again. Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin, Nori, Dori, Ori, Oin, Gloin, and himself. Ten dwarrows. Sweet Mahal… “Ten dwarrows. We’re going to need a bigger tent.”

Ori squeaked and moved closer to Dwalin. “Thank you. Thank you milord.” Thorin started. He had not been called by a title of any kind when they weren’t in front of others. He was hardly worthy of it.

“There are no titles here, Ori. We are all equals.” He stood up and shook out his hands.  He was halfway through the tournament. There was other things to do beside lament that which they could not fight or win. “Fili, care for a sword practice?”

His nephew was by his side with a sword before he could blink. He took his own blade back up and headed for the door.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bofur was being quiet. Bofur was never quiet. Bilbo had known him his entire life and he could not recall a single time when Bofur would not talk to him.

It was unsettling.

It had been nearly two weeks since the feast. Bofur had talked less each day. Bilbo half wondered if he should have ever told him what had happened.

Thorin… Thorin had lied to him. He had let Bilbo fall for him and he had lied the entire time. Bilbo had told him things he’d never told anyone else. He told him his dreams and his thoughts and he’d let the man-dwarf, see parts of him that none other, not even Bofur had seen.

They were in Greenwood but Bilbo hadn’t left his lodging. He was lonely and wanted company, but Bofur was just whittling in the corner. There was only so much silence Bilbo could take.

“What have I done?”

Bofur looked up, his knife mid stroke. He blinked in surprise before slowly lowering the statuette and setting it in his lap. “Sorry?”

“You’ve whittled ten toys and have hardly spoken to me.” Bofur dropped his gaze to the toy and huffed.

“I’m having a bit of a conflict with you and my dwarfness.”

“Because of Thorin?” Bilbo did not quite shriek, but it was a near thing.

“Yes.” Bofur never lied of fluffed the truth. It was something he admired about his best friend.

“Why?”

“Because he is doing his best to earn enough money to free seven-no, sorry-nine other dwarves. And I think he should have the right to fight as a dwarf and never have had to hide his identity.”

“But he could have told me the truth.”

“Aye. That he could have. That’s what is causing the conflict.”

Bilbo sat down and glared at the wall. “He said I was his One.  If I was really that important then he wouldn’t have lied.” He paused when he heard Bofur splutter. The dwarf had dropped his whittling and was trying to keep his balance on the chair. Bilbo hopped up and went to his friends side. He helped straighten him before returning to his seat.

“You’re his One?”

“Why-what does that mean?”

“Oh Mahal! It’s a wonder he’s been able to fight at all.” He leaned forward and locked gazes with Bilbo, his expression urgent and slightly desperate. “Quick, tell me exactly what you said.” Bilbo flushed and lowered his eyes. He repeated the conversation as well as he could and tried not to cry. By the end of his story Bofur was pale.

“I should have told you about the way dwarrows love, Bilbo. Thorin did not just say he loved, or even admired you. He said he had given you his heart. You’re his Sanzeuh. His One.” The word made something thump hard in his chest, though Bilbo wasn’t sure why.

“Tell me what that means.”

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin was thinking he might be snapping a slight bit. He was three jousting rounds from the end of the tournament  and he was fairly certain that Bilbo and Bofur were in the stands. He knew it was Bofur for certain, there was no mistaking Bofur’s hat. He was scared to look and see if it was actually Bilbo.

The hobbit would not want to see a game Thorin was in. The hobbit had walked away from Thorin. He would not be coming back. Thorin needed to focus on the game and beat whoever he was fighting.  He tightened his hold on the lance and on Beron’s reins. He locked his gaze on his opponent ( he could not remember if he was fighting a man or elf… Bilbo kept trying to slip into his thoughts.)

He charged forward and kept the blow steady, his mind locking on to his target and the beat of his horse steps. He hefted his lance and held it secure as he dropped it onto the others shoulders. It hit true and the match was won. Thorin rode back to his side and handed the damaged lance back to Fili. Kili was looking at him expectantly. He slid off Beorn and stared at his youngest nephew, waiting for whatever it was that had him looking like that.

“Didn’t you notice?” Thorin blinked and frowned. His eyes darted to Fili who was also looking at him expectantly.

“Notice what?”

“Maybe he’s just in denial?” Kili asked Fili. The blond shrugged and looked at something behind Thorin. He grinned blindingly for a moment before his face dropped into a glare. Thorin turned around slowly and felt his stomach drop out of his chest, taking his heart with it.

Bilbo stood in front of him with Bofur by his side. The hobbit was wearing a dark cloak that covered almost all of his body, but Thorin could see a green waist coat and brown breeches underneath it. He had his head bowed and his golden curls were hanging about his head in disarray. There were no braids with little flowers woven in them.

Thorin’s chest felt colder, which he hadn’t actually thought was possible. He took a step back without really thinking about it, and felt his dwarrows step in closer. His nephews shoulders brushed against his own and Thorin took comfort in their silent support.

Thorin would not, could not, speak first. He was not even certain he could stay.

“M-master Oakenshield?” Bilbo’s voice was little more than a whisper. Bofur stepped closer to his master and Thorin felt his heart give a feeble attempt at jealousy, but it fell flat. Bofur always made Bilbo smile. Thorin would take Bilbo’s happiness over his own any day.

“Yes, Mister Baggins?” He tried to keep his voice from going to steely, or wanting, but he wasn’t certain he succeeded.  Bilbo dared a glance at him before returning his gaze to the ground.

“I-” Bilbo swallowed thickly and fidgeted. “I should like to meet with you later tonight. So we may talk in private?” He risked another glance and Thorin was unable to mask his incredulous expression before Bilbo’s eyes met his. “Please?”

Thorin’s heart, blast it, spoke without leave of his mind. “Agreed. Where and when?” Bilbo thrust his hand out and held a tiny bundle up for Thorin’s inspection. He didn’t know what to make of it.

Fili shoved Thorin’s arm forward and he caught on. He opened his hand and Bilbo deposited the cloth wrapped bundle. “That will have all the details, Sir Hunter.” He took a quick step back, and, with one last glance, he and Bofur were rushing off.

Thorin watched him go, his chest a cold, painful ache. “Thorin?” Kili nudged him and his eyes dropped back to the package. It had been wrapped in a handkerchief. One of the favors that the hobbit used to grant him before his firm dismissal. He untied it with a carefully controlled hand and let the cloth slip around his fingers.

It was a tiny statuette of a leopard. Thorin stared at in uncomprehendingly for several long moments until Fili gasped by his side. Then he remembered standing with his precious little hobbit on the balcony, gazing at stars. The Leopard, Bilbo’s favorite constellation. The protector of the Shire and a great hunter. There was a note underneath it with the time and location that Bilbo wanted to meet, but Thorin could hardly glance at it before his attention was back on the trinket.

What did it mean?

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo had never been more frightened in his entire life. The clearing was quiet and completely uninhabited except for the tent that Bofur had helped him setup. There was a fire flickering in front of the tent and furs carpeting the floor of it.  He wasn’t certain Thorin would even show up, and he could honestly not blame the dwarf if he did not come.

He’d been so selfish in his reaction. So blind.

Just seeing Thorin today had nearly made him collapse. The dwarf had looked utterly ragged, yet he still fought valiantly. With an intensity that was scary to behold. Bilbo had no idea how he could have possibly thought Thorin was fighting for any other reason than the dwarrows that surrounded him. (The fact that the number kept growing should have been enough of a hint.)

“They’re coming.” Bofur observed and Bilbo stood up with a jump. He could see torch lights flickering in the woods. The entire lot of dwarrows was coming then. They had the makings of a small army. He glanced at Bofur who offered him a warm smile and stepped forward. He called out their location and waited a moment for them to appear. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around his shoulders and tried not to shake. He waited until they were assembled in front of the fire, all looking unsure. Thorin wore a fur cloak and simple tunic, the only finery on him was a simple silver clasp that held the cloak shut.  He never wore any finery. Bilbo had never noticed it before.

His dwarf dressed as his servants, the only difference was the cloak. He walked forward until he could kneel in front of Thorin.

“I beg your forgiveness, Sir Thorin Oakenshield. I was wrong to accuse you of such horrible things, and so very wrong to leave your side.” He swallowed and flexed his fingers. His entire body was too tense. “Will you allow me to explain?”

“Does your explanation really matter, laddie?”  Balin asked. The older dwarf’s voice was hard and his eyes narrowed.

“It matters,” Thorin said softly, his blue eyes hard and unyielding, “I want to know. Why did you come back? You know what I am and what I do.” Bilbo winced as he recalled all he had said. He had been so wrong. So cruel. He hadn’t realise the full effect his words would have but that did not excuse them.

“Look,” he sighed out. He could feel Bofur step closer to him, and his friend’s loyal presence calmed him, “I know why you all doubt me, and I know you should. I do not deserve your forgiveness, or even your consideration after how I behaved. And it’s true... I do often think of the Shire. I miss my books, and my armchair, and my garden. Because, that's where I belong, that's home.”  Bilbo swallowed and roughly pushed the longing ache in his chest away. It didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was earning Thorin’s trust again. “That's why I came back... 'cause you don't have one, a home.” He broke eye contact with Thorin and looked at the rest of his dwarrows. His friends. “All of you were robbed of your home a long time ago. It was taken from you unjustly. But I will help you take it back if I can.” He looked back at Thorin. “I’ll not leave again. My actions were hasty and horrible. You are by far the bravest person I have ever met, and the love you have for your dwarrows is enough to prove your worth, without your own actions taken into account. You fight bravely against foes that would gladly take your life. Simply to provide something that no one should be without.”

Thorin stepped forward, his eyes still hard, but an emotion Bilbo had never thought to see again filled them.

“Would you speak privately with me?”

Bilbo nodded his head, a ridiculously giddy feeling, something like hope, flooding his veins.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets steamy at the end! If that is not your thing, skip the third section and rejoin us in the next chapter.
> 
> Have fun!

The tent was pleasantly warm. The silence was heavy, but there was little Thorin could do to fix that. He could practically feel the gaze of each of his dwarrows on the other side of the flap. He felt vaguely numb and was terrified to stand still and listen, less a pain worse than the previous take him.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to give Bilbo anymore  power by forgiving him.

“I can not say sorry enough. I was so scared about-” Bilbo clamped his mouth shut and dropped his head. His hands hanged limply by his side. He looked so small. So helpless and still so beautiful. It made Thorin’s heart squeeze to even look at him. He let his eyes drift to the far wall and inhaled.

“It was dishonorable of me to lie to you for so long.”

“No, it was all you could do. I had no reason to be told until we had come to an understanding. I had no right to say what I said.”

“I take it that Bofur explained what it meant when I said you were my One?” Bilbo nodded his head and a choked sob broke free from his lips. Thorin faced him in surprise and felt a pain equal to being stabbed pierce his chest. The hobbit doubled over as more tears fell down his face. Thorin rushed to his side and wrapped him in his arms.

“I doubted you!” Bilbo wept, “I did not think you could be noble because you lied to me like the others had!”

“I should have told you. I have never been so wrong about anything in all my life.”

Bilbo turned to him and looked at him with eyes that were red. “How can you say that? I told you to leave when you were trying to protect me! I behaved like a spoiled fauntling! You did not share a secret that was not yours alone and I acted like you had forsaken me.”

“I love you, Bilbo. I could not change that regardless of what you do. I do not want to change that.” He brushed the golden curls back, his fingers aching to weave the beads he had made back in.

“Would you still take me as yours then?” Thorin nodded his head. His heart still hurt, so severely, but he would take Bilbo back. The hobbit was a gentle soul, he would not deliberately do so much damage again. He knew Thorin’s only secret now. There was nothing else to tell that would cause such shock.

Thorin would not willingly go back to the dark world he’d been living in without Bilbo’s companionship.

“Then,” Bilbo swallowed thickly and reached into his pocket. He pulled his hand back out, clutching something. He unfisted his hand and displayed the beads that Thorin had made for him. The dwarf’s breath caught in his throat. He dare not hope. “Then will you braid these into my hair in proper courtship fashion? I would have you court me as is proper for your people.”

Thorin took the beads and examined them to have something to do. Now was the moment of choice. He would live with Bilbo by his side. They could be friends and Thorin’s heart, while never as whole as it might have been, would beat with far less pain. Or he could give Bilbo the braids, and court him properly and his heart would be restored.

But Bilbo could hurt him again. Bilbo could inflict the same pain, and Thorin wasn’t quite certain he was equipped to handle it again.

Bilbo couldn’t meet his gaze.

The hobbit was staring at the furs he’d strewn about the floor to make it softer. His hands trembled slightly and he looked as if he was focusing on simply breathing. Thorin found that odd. The hobbit was scared of what he was going to do.

Thorin considered the beads again before taking them in his own hand. He had never been one to fear an uncertain path. That was what had lead him to his current situation with hiding his identity. If he could face death to earn his dwarrows a home, he could face heartache to earn the love of Bilbo Baggins.

He gently sectioned out Bilbo’s hair and began to weave the strands into a braid that he had been taught as a young lad. He had never thought to have the chance to put it in another’s hair. Bilbo trembled slightly beneath him, and Thorin was surprised his hands remained steady. He fastened it with a leather strip from his own hair and stepped back.

The hobbit’s hand went to his hair and traced the braid with reverent fingers.

Bilbo kissed him, and small arms went around his neck and the warm body pressed against his own in a way Thorin had never thought to feel again. Thorin closed his eyes and rocked on his feet while something deep in his chest exploded outwards. His arms wrapped Bilbo up and close and clung on desperately. The rest of the world seemed distant and unimportant in the wake of this. This perfect thing Thorin had been sure was lost to him.  

When Bilbo finally pulled away Thorin let him go. He put his hands behind his back and clenched them so they wouldn’t reach after the warm hobbit. He ached again.

“I’m in love with you.” Bilbo murmured. Thorin felt something sharp lodge itself in his throat and he had to close his eyes. He was utter incapable of moving.

“No, Burglar. I was unaware of that.” A bare whisper of movement echoed in the quiet tent, and then Bilbo was against him, warm wool and the scent of fall heavy on him. Trembling hands settled on his arms and Thorin had to fight a gasp.

He still couldn’t open his eyes.

“Thorin?”

“Yes?”

“Am I still your Sanzeuh?”

Thorin’s eyes finally popped open and he nodded his head with a thick swallow. “Always, Bilbo. Always.”

They talked long into the night. They talked about Thorin’s true heritage and why Bilbo had left the Shire. They spoke about the future they might have together, and what had transpired.

They talked free of any lies and when Thorin finally fell asleep, with Bilbo wrapped safely in his arms, he was hopeful.

-[]-[]-[]-

The last jousting matches were easier than Thorin had thought they would be. They were waiting for the page to finish announcing his last competition, and then the final joust would begin. The victory round. It was against Lord Bloo, who Thorin had fought previously. The knight had been injured in that fight, and Thorin had called a draw so that the other knight would not have to withdraw.

“Stop, stop!” A dwarrow that Thorin had never seen before rushed up to his own group of dwarrows, waving his hands frantically through the air. He had ginger hair that was arranged in a star shape around his head. Strands were coming loose and he looked all around frantic. “Withdraw!” Ori rushed to the ginger dwarf and took his arms.

Thorin tried not to raise his eyebrow.

“Nori? What are you on about? Why are you even here? You’re supposed to be tending to -”  
The ginger dwarf, Nori, apparently, cut his brother off and went straight for Thorin. “Milord, that is not a simple elf. He’s royalty.”

“Mahal!” Balin gasped, his hand coming to cover his mouth. Thorin gripped the reins tighter and looked out at where Bloom awaited. The elf had hidden his identity for each tournament. He was not permitted to joust anymore than Thorin was.

He felt oddly sympathetic of the elf. Very few would understand what he went through.

“-the white flag. Go on, Fili.” Thorin only caught the tail end of the statement but it made him frown.

“What?”

“You cannot fight him, Thorin!” Thorin pulled his helmet down and grinned. He rolled his shoulder back and felt Bilbo’s token press against his heart. Right over his mark. It made him want to laugh. He couldn’t fight because the elf was not supposed to fight. Oh the irony.

The page left the center of the field as Fili grabbed the white flag from the pile of supplies. The royal elf slouched on his horse and Thorin made his decision. He nudged Beorn and the horse moved forward. He hefted his lance in the air and the elf took his own lance in hand. Thorin charged forward, ignoring Balin’s frustrated shouts behind him, and rode to meet Lord Bloom. The elf surged towards him, dropping his own lance and Thorin grinned in excitement as their lances met. The crash was enormously loud, and the tips of both lances broke.

They turned their steeds around and met each other at the center of the field.

“You knew my lineage, Sir Thorin.” The elf declared. Thorin nodded his head.

“I did.”

“Yet still you fought?” Thorin’s gaze traveled to the dwarrows at his end of the field. They were huddled together and looked miserably worried.

“Withdrawal is not an option for me.” The elf nodded his head. His hands reached up and unsnapped his helmet. He pulled it off his head and golden locks cascaded down around his face. The Prince’s eyes found his, holding a deep knowing.

“No, though it can happen.” He inclined his head and turned to the crowd. He gave them another nod before riding to his side of the field.

And just like that, Thorin was the champion.

-[]-[]-[]-

Bilbo had managed to talk the dwarrows into spending the night in his tent. Bofur had offered his brothers cooking, and between that simple bribe and the obviousness of what Bilbo wanted to do for Thorin, they agreed.

The expression on Thorin’s face when he entered the empty tent after the feast was honestly adorable. He frowned in confusion and turned, probably to talk to Fili who had accompanied him at the feast.

That had been fun. He’d spent the entire night on Thorin’s arm. They had arrived together, eaten together, danced together, and talked.

They’d done a lot of that in the past week. They’d talked before, but it had never been like this. It was obvious to him now, looking back, that Thorin had been holding back. Bilbo had fallen in love with that Thorin. He was utterly enraptured by this Thorin.

“Fili?” Thorin’s voice was quiet, confused, and perfectly matched his expression. Bilbo swallowed thickly and gathered his courage. He wanted to give Thorin everything. All of him. Tonight was the perfect time. He slipped quietly out of the shadows and Thorin’s head snapped towards him. His hand was on his hilt and his glare was severe for all of a moment before he realized it was Bilbo. He stepped forward and then paused with an uncertain grin.

“Bilbo?”

“Sir Hunter,” he swallowed and had to drop his eyes. He didn’t want to see if the dwarf rejected him. “I have come to complete the final stage of Hobbit courtship.”

Thorin was nearer and Bilbo hadn’t heard him even move. “And what does that entail?”

Bilbo lifted his eyes, his heart pounding, and spoke the one word of khuzdul that he’d been practicing with Bofur. “Mahzâyung.”

Thorin inhaled, and the hiss of air was loud in the silent air. He took one step forward and stopped halfway through the movement, making his entire body jerk. He open and closed his mouth before shutting his eyes. He exhaled slowly and opened them again. “You wish to make love?” Bilbo nodded his head. “You’re certain?” Thorin added.

“Very.” He stepped back and sat down on the warm furs, his eyes never leaving Thorin’s. “I want to be completely yours.” He pulled a bottle of oil from his pocket and set it beside the furs with a fierce blush. Thorin made a strangled noise and then he was at Bilbo’s side. He kissed him, his mouth wet and molten and better than he could ever expect and Bilbo was losing himself to the warmth.

Thorin’s hands were suddenly on his body, searching and insistent. He found the laces to Bilbo’s tunic and undid them with dexterous fingers. With the lace undone Thorin slid the collar open and off his shoulders. His tunic fell off and pooled around his waist. The air was shockingly cold and made him gasp. He could feel his nipples harden, and Thorin’s gaze was making him breathless in a completely different way.

Thorin eased him down onto his back and followed him to lay down on his side by Bilbo’s side. The dwarf laid a hand against Bilbo’s chest and just left it over his heart. He tugged the blanket over them and then ran his hands over Bilbo, light touches with calloused fingers that made him gasp and shudder and want. Bilbo’s hands flew to Thorin’s waist and grasped the hem of his tunic. He tugged it and in one smooth motion had it up and off Thorin’s shoulders. The dwarf blinked, looking surprised that Bilbo had taken the initiative and undressed him. Bilbo simply grinned and dropped his gaze to take in the dwarf’s chest.

Sweet Eru, he was a lucky Hobbit. Thorin was gorgeous. He was solid like all dwarrows, but he wasn’t as…chubby, as the dwarrows Bilbo had seen without a shirt. Thorin was ripped from obvious years of hard work. He was lightly tanned, and he had thick hair all over his chest and arms that was almost fur like. It was soft to the touch. He traced his hand through it, feelings his shoulders, his clavicle, his pectorals. He let his fingers trail to the nipples, already perked and seeming to wait for Bilbo’s attention.

“You are gorgeous.” Bilbo declared. His hand drifted up to rest over his dwarf’s heart, and could feel it racing under his touch. His other hand drifted to Thorin’s back as he met his eyes again.

Thorin’s hands worked at his braies, and a moment later he was tugging them and Bilbo’s tunic off. “This is alright?”

Bilbo nodded his head and tried to untie the knot on Thorin’s breeches. His fingers felt thick and clumsy and he was tempted to just bite the thing off. He briefly imagined what Thorin’s reaction to that would be, but the dwarf was pulling his own breeches off before he could do much of anything.

Bilbo wasn’t going to complain.

He was divested of his smalls and then Thorin was pushing himself up so he could look at Bilbo. His hand began to move upside the hobbit’s leg, and he couldn’t hold back the gasp. Thorin’s hands were warm and so much wider than his own.

Bilbo’s hand flew to Thorin’s hair and it tangled in the thick locks and tugged the dwarf’s head down. The kiss was sloppy and inelegant and Bilbo did not care because everything just grew warmer and Thorin was so solid and heavy and hot above him that he ended up moaning loudly.

Moan did not even begin to describe the noise he made when Thorin’s hand found his cock, somehow already slick. The tight, quick pace he set had Bilbo breaking the kiss to throw his head back and breathe. Thorin gasped above his, his eyes dark and intense and focused on Bilbo, who was beginning to feel as tightly pulled as the harp strings that Thorin played.

He dragged his hand down Thorin’s back, digging his nails into the muscles there and crying out. Thorin growled low in his throat and dropped his head to the hobbit’s neck. He sucked the skin there, bringing forth what would be an impressive mark. His hand trailed up Bilbo’s thigh and stroked the skin there for a moment.

“Thorin, not gonna last if you keep this up… You need to, ungh… want you in-“ He couldn’t finish around a moan but Thorin seemed to get the idea. The hand that had been on his thigh returned, but it was slick with the oil Bilbo had glimpsed earlier. He spread his legs as wide as he could and canted his hips up in as blatant an invitation as he could. Thorin mumbled in khuzdul, his eyes wide and dark and flittering about Bilbo’s body, as though they couldn’t quite decide what they wanted to look at.

The finger was larger than his own, and the callouses should have been rough, but Bilbo had never felt him be so gentle. It slipped in with little resistance and Bilbo was grateful that he’d done the same thing that morning, imagining what might happen when he presented himself to Thorin.

“Bilbo,” Thorin, murmured and added another finger after a moment.

The dwarf sat back on his legs and, while Bilbo was grateful for the cool rush of air, he despised the distance. He wanted to touch the dwarf everywhere. Wanted to explore, and feel and taste everything, feast on the exquisite dwarf in front of him. The fingers inside him were threatening to distract him, but Bilbo wasn’t just going to lay back. He grabbed a hold of the dwarf’s hair again and tugged him down so that he could take his mouth. He took control of the kiss and brought his other hand to Thorin’s chest and tangled it in the hair/fur there.

A groan erupted from Thorin’s throat and Bilbo grinned against his lips. He loved Thorin, desperately, and he loved having an effect on him.

The dwarf growled again and crooked his fingers (when had their gotten to be three?) up. Bilbo nearly screamed into his mouth as the dwarf found his pleasure spot. His body thrashed under Thorin and he dug his fingers into Thorin’s chest.

Thorin pulled back, his fingers never stopping their thrusting and stretching, and grinned wickedly. Bilbo’s head pressed back into the furs and his mouth dropped open to inhale air as the dwarf repeatedly hit his spot. He was so full and so warm and it was all so good, and they should have been doing this since the day they met.

He moved the hand from Thorin’s hair and flung it down to the furs and searched wildly for the bottle. His fingers finally found it and he tugged it near. Oil dribbled onto his trembling fingers and he brought the slick digits down between Thorin’s legs. He stroked the dwarf quickly, slicking him up. His eyes widened at seeing the effect he had on Thorin. His back arched, his head tilted back, and his pulse throbbed in his throat as he moaned to the ceiling.

Thorin crushed him to his chest and Bilbo gasped. “Ready, I’m ready. Please…” Thorin moved between his legs and locked his eye with Bilbo’s.

The hobbit had always thought this would be awkward. It always seemed like it would have to be awkward, given what was happening, but he had not taken into account how much Thorin drew him out of himself. The dwarf brought parts of him forward that he hadn’t even known existed, obvious in the way he had behaved so far, but even more.

Thorin made Bilbo dare. He made him feel safe and secure and loved, like no one else ever had, and Bilbo suspected ever would.

The dwarf lowered his head and kissed him, and then he was pressing in. It was a tight pressure that Bilbo had never felt before, and he was frantic for a moment that it was too much-

And then Thorin was in, and rocking deeper with tiny thrust. He made a tiny noise against Bilbo’s mouth and the hobbit fed back one of his own. His large hand stroked Bilbo’s face, his thumb tracing the line of his jaw as he kissed him. There was a sensation like a muscle being kneaded out and the pressure of where Thorin was inside him eased. He let out a long relieved breath

The stretch was amazing. Thorin’s cock spread him wide and deep, further than his fingers had ever been able to.

His hips pulled back and thrust back inside and Bilbo cried out, the drag was amazing and everything was so hot. Thorin broke the kiss and blinked between heavy breathes. He shifted his weight and withdrew again. He narrowed his eyes and thrust back in and Bilbo did scream.

Thorin grinned and thrust inside him with short controlled movements, each stroke brushing against his prostrate and making him gasp and struggle for air. A small part of his still working mind wondered how Thorin could keep hitting him so perfectly, but Thorin was a blacksmith and jouster and had to hit the same mark every time and was good at aiming and dear Eru, Bilbo was more than happy to reap the benefits.

Bilbo ran his hands down Thorin’s back, which was slick with sweat, and angled his hips to meet Thorin’s thrusts. He groaned the dwarf’s name and Thorin’s eyes narrowed in on him. He had the whole of this dwarf’s attention and between that and the magic Thorin was working on his body he would not last long. The dwarf wrapped his hand back around Bilbo’s cock and the hobbit could not get enough air.

Thorin thrust faster, and the tightness that had been coiling in Bilbo’s chest snapped. His head snapped back and his back arched, and he was coming as stars burst behind his eyelids. He dug his fingers into Thorin’s shoulders, enough to leave marks, and the dwarf bellowed his name out. He threw his own head back and thrust as deeply as he could before coming. Bilbo could feel the pulsing warmth and then Thorin was collapsing beside him. He snuggled into the dwarf's side and they caught their breath together.


	11. Chapter 11

The sun was delightfully warm on Thorin’s naked chest. He hummed contentedly at the feel of it and drew the warm bundle in his arms closer. Soft curls brushed against his nose and he smiled into them.

“Bilbo,” he murmured, not yet opening his eyes. The hobbit nuzzled his head under Thorin’s chin and curled in closer to his chest. He ran the back of his heel up Thorin’s calf and he could not hold back the entire body shudder the simple movement caused.

He would never be used to sleeping with Bilbo in his arms. It was a simple, perfect thing. A moment each day that would not be ruined by any of the days trials. When they first woke, bodies intertwined and eyes closed, nothing else mattered. It was not important that Thorin was a dwarf and Bilbo a hobbit. That Thorin was poor and risking his life or that Bilbo would probably never be allowed to marry him. They were just together. Simple and perfect.

Even in Dale, the city of Smaug’s father, it was all that he wanted. Just to have a place to sleep and his hobbit to hold.

The morning was the only time where he could imagine he had accomplished all he hoped to. Even while they slept in a tent in a field on a bed of little more than grass, it felt like victory.

He ached for it to be so.

“Surely it’s too early for you to be up.” Bilbo mumbled into Thorin’s chin and the dwarf’s lips curled up. He stubbornly kept his eyes closed for a moment longer before he had to acknowledge the day.

“I have a joust to prepare for that I must fight tomorrow. Nori should be returning with Dori sometime this morning, and I have promised Ori that I will allow the dwarf to accompany us.” Bilbo tightened his hold on Thorin and the dwarf was certain he would fly away from the giddiness that being wanted by Bilbo filled him with.

“Thirteen…” Bilbo murmured. His lips brushed against Thorin’s throat and it made him shudder.

“Mmm?”

“Dwarrows…”

“How so?” Thorin asked after a moment. “I count only ten.” Only ten. Ha. He still hadn’t figured out how he’d gone from four to ten.

“Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur have stated that they’re part of your company.  Well, Bifur technically signed it to Bofur.”

Thorin smiled into Bilbo’s hair and pressed another kiss into the silky tresses.  “Then the number would be fourteen as you are part of our company.”

Bilbo’s eyes popped open. “I am?”

Thorin tipped Bilbo’s head up and smiled at his little hobbit. He would move mountains for him. “Yes, Bilbo. You and I are Sanzeuh. That is a bond stronger than any other.”

“Like marriage?”

“More so. It is understood by my kind that I am forever reserved solely for you. All that I posses is yours. My kin will protect you as they would protect me.”

Bilbo’s lips quirked up in a small smile. “By Hobbit standards we’re very nearly married. We simply need to dance with flower crowns in front of witnesses after exchanging simple vows.”

“Then, if you are willing, after I achieve victory at the tournament, I would wed you.” He cupped Bilbo’s cheek in his hand, still marveling at how soft his beardless face skin was. “Only a champion is worthy of your hand.”

“I don’t know about all that, but I’ll be able to get everything together by then.” He paused and bit his lip. Thorin had the urge to tug it free so he could nibble on it himself.  “My guardian won’t consent to the union.”

“Then a secret it shall remain. I will be content to simply know that your heart has chosen mine.”

“You two are quite possibly the most sickening things I’ve ever had to listen to.” Kili declared to the air suddenly, making Bilbo blush a brilliant red and bury his head in Thorin’s chest.

“Then you have not listened to your own pillow talk, namadinûdoy.(sister’s son).” Thorin resisted the urge to sigh and gave his hobbit one last squeeze before releasing him and pushing himself up. Half of his dwarrows were already preparing for the day while the rest were trying to hold onto sleep as well. His nephews were sharing a bedroll and both had identical smirks.

“You two can tend to Beorn this morning.” His nephews didn’t look even slightly abashed. They jumped up and left the tent with a large wink and a laugh. Thorin watched them go with a shake of his head before he tugged on his tunic.

As a champion of several of the previous tournaments Thorin did not have to fight the first rounds at this one. He was allowed to pass directly to the finals. He would only have to fight three games to be declared a champion.

It was odd to be so close to achieving his goal. It felt tangible now. He was so close to achieving all that he hoped for. If he won the jousts, he would buy land in the Blue Mountains-Bilbo had friends that currently owned land there-and he and his dwarrows could carve a home from its rock. They would thrive there, delving deep into the mountain. They would tend to the stone there, using the skills Mahal gifted them with. They would discover the mountains secrets, deep chambers where light had never shown. They would work the sky so that sunlight and starlight would filter through and illuminate the beauty that the stone would hold.

To be allowed to tend to rock and stone, to free precious gems from their prisons and to display the beauty of their mountain. It made Thorin’s heart pound with want.

He quietly pulled on his armor and tightened his belt. He had to remain focused on the goal ahead.

=[]=[]=[]=

The market was fairly busy. There were merchants everywhere, peddling their wares with a gusto that made Thorin want to laugh. He enjoyed the life of the market, and how most sellers didn’t care what race you were so long as you showed an interest in what they had.

He was on a mission though, and would not be distracted. Dwalin needed a new hammer, and Thorin was going to see to it that the dwarf received it. He was intending on using the dwarf’s tools himself that evening. He wanted to craft a wedding band for his hobbit. One that he could wear on a chain instead of his finger, less they raise suspicion. Bilbo would only wear it when they were together.

He  scanned the market to see if there were any dwarrows selling their wares. He would always buy from a dwarf if it was an option. They were lined up near the back so he made his way over there. The last table held a variety of blacksmith tools, all finely crafted. He took his time examining them while he waited for the cart’s seller to finish with a client. The dwarf had long black hair that was braided back from five individual braids. There was a marriage braid, two family braids, and a servitude braid, along with a very loosely made braid like a child would make. The dwarf had slightly rounded hips, so Thorin figured it was probably a female. Perhaps a mother even.

He lifted the hammer up and studied the rune etched upon it’s handle. It was a simple D, so probably a mark of her trade.

“Thank you for waiting, sir. Can I interest you in that particular item?” Thorin’s skin tingled at the deep voice, a feeling he  couldn’t quite describe bubbling up in his chest. If felt like he was remembering a dream, or a dream of a dream. A wish he made when he was younger and had all but forgotten. Something intangible and unobtainable. His fingers trembled around the hammer and his breath hitched audibly. His heart tried to keep beating steadily, but it felt odd and off rhythm in his chest. He could not move his head.

“Sir?”

“It is well made.” Thorin managed, and his voice was a deep throaty thing that hurt. He was impressed he managed to make the words around the boulder sized lump that had formed in his throat.

He was being ridiculous. There was no way it was what he hoped. The dwarrowdame was just another female. No one in particular. He was acting like a dwarfling.

Thorin carefully set the hammer down and swallowed. It did nothing to the lump in his throat but it did help his resolve. Quick as he could he lifted his head and looked the dwarf in the eye.

Thorin son of Thrain was a strong dwarf. He had been through a remarkable spectrum of horrible and ridiculous situations in his life, and while he had faced varying levels of dizziness, he had never passed out.

Thorin had to grip the table and heave in a large lungful of air to keep from doing so now. He knew the dwarf in front of him, and he thought his heart just might stop from the wonder of it.

“Dís?” He mouthed the word, his voice little more than a breath. The dwarrowdame looked at him with wide eyes.

“How can you know my name, sir?” She blinked and her eyes were the exact grey-green that Fíli’s were. Thorin fought for air as his world went dangerously off kilter. The table seemed to shake under his fingers.

“I know you,” he mumbled, trying to inhale. “Menu tessu men azi.”(You are everything I remember.) He kept his eyes on her despite the way the earth spun and refused to budge. His heart beat off rhythm and his feet trembled violently. His mind felt like a quiet rush, unable to process past the simple reality of who was in front of him. His sister blinked in surprise, her eyes unsure, but Thorin could see the hope that lingered in their depths.

“Menu galabâ khuzdul?” (You speak khuzdul?”

“It is my birthright, namad.” Dís stumbled back a step and gripped the table behind her. Her eyes widened and a choked noise broke from her throat. Thorin’s chest pounded and he needed to hold his sister. The carts were too public, he needed privacy.

“Tanak.” (Come) He said, and it came out a bark. Dís followed him without complaint into the nearest empty ally. He didn’t stop until they reached it’s end, and then he went behind a pile of barrels before turning to face his sister.

She had been fifty years younger when he had last seen her. The time had caused her face to harden and her hair to be sprinkled with a few strands of grey. She was still just as beautiful as he remembered though, and her eyes were just as full of spirit. His hands shook again and he decided to waste no more time. He wrapped his sister in his arms and clenched his eyes at the feel of her.

“Nadad? Thorin?” Dís whispered, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

“It is I.”

“How can this be? I thought you a man-”

He held her tighter and buried his nose in her braids. He recognized the sloppily done braid as the kind Kili would putin his mother’s hair. He needed to fetch his nephews… He had to bring her to them. “I am in disguise. I have managed to joust multiple times in this guise without suspicion. We have won a fair amount of gold by it.”

“We?” She pulled back and held his gaze in her own unwavering one. Tears splashed down Thorin’s cheeks and he did nothing to stop them. They did not shame him, this joy needed to be expressed by whatever form it decided.

“Yes, Fili and Kili are with me.”

Dís tightened her grip on Thorin’s arms and he wondered if she could break him with her strength. “Take me to them.”

Thorin had never been happier to help somone pack up a cart in his life.

=[]=[]=[]=

Thorin was quite certain he had never, and would never feel more complete in his life. He had his arm around Bilbo and he was watching his sister speak with her sons. His dwarrows surrounded him, and they were with their own siblings. Ori had introduced Dwalin to Dori (the eldest brother seemed quite bent on propriety) and Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur were preparing the evening meal. The only one not present was Nori, who was out fishing for information on their next opponent.

Thorin imagined he could taste their joy on the air.

He had not expected this mad quest to pan out at all. He had really only hoped that he would earn enough money to feed his dwarrows for a while and buy them necessities. He had dared to hope that they might buy a home.

Even he had not dared to think they might accomplish all this.

The fire was pleasantly warm and their feasting was loud. Thorin was grateful for the solitude of their camp because they were not hiding the fact that they were having fun. They were a merry gathering, as dwarrows should always have.

“She’s quite lovely.” Bilbo observed with a kiss to his cheek. Thorin was certain he was glowing with contentment. There were only two more jousts and he could be champion. He would buy a home and he would have accomplished his greatest goal.

“She takes after my mother.” Bilbo nodded his head and shifted closer to Thorin so that all of his side was pressed against Thorin’s. He pressed a kiss against the golden curls and let his eyes drift to his family.  He was vaguely aware of Dwalin sitting up right at his side and turning his head towards the tent flap. The dwarf’s hand drifted to the axe at his side and Thorin gave him his full attention.

“Dwalin?”

“Buzunnukhah.” (Footsteps.) Thorin’s hand drifted to his own sword and he stood up, along with Fili, Kili, Gloin and Dwalin. The others watched them with unsure eyes. He felt a strange bristling in his skin and unsheathed Orcrist. Someone was coming.

The tent flap flew open and Nori burst in, his eye wide and his mouth open as he gasped for breath. “Thorin,” he wheezed. Dori was by his side startlingly fast with an arm wrapped around his waist to help steady him. “They come.” He coughed and sucked in a large amount of air. Something churned uncertainly in Thorin’s gut.

Who came and why?

“Who?”

“Smaug! He saw you in the market, he heard you speak in Khuzdul.” He hacked on another inhale before he could finish. The other dwarrows had already risen in alarm.

“What?”

“He knows! He has figured out your true identity! They’re coming to arrest you! They were less than a league behind me”

“Then they will get your baggage.” Balin declared. He went to the back and grabbed up their food, shoving it into the nearest pack. “Everyone make ready. We’re leaving now.”

“No!” Thorin barked. His heart raced and he didn’t feel like there was enough air in the room, let alone his body. This wasn’t the time to panic though, it would cost them everything. Smaug would not just come for him, he would come for his dwarrows and Bilbo as well. No matter the cost, Thorin could not allow that to happen. He’d thought up a contingency plan incase of failure, he had hoped not to use it, but fate was rarely ever kind.

“Dwalin, arm everyone, Fili, Kili, Oin, Ori, Dori, pack the horses, Gloin, Nori, keep watch. Dis, aid Balinin gathering up all the gold we have. Make for the woods. Bofur, Bifur, and Bombur, take Bilbo to safety, now. Leave the tent behind.” His dwarrows sprang into action.

“NO!” Bilbo bellowed, jumping up in utter alarm and rushing towards Thorin. Bofur and Bifur both caught his arms. “I will not leave you!”

“I did not ask your opinion, my Burglar.” Thorin said lowly. He strode across the few feet that separated him from the struggling hobbit. “I will not risk you in this flight.” He cupped his cheek and Bilbo stilled, his eye wide and terrified.

“What is your intention then, laddie?” Balin demanded. He wasn’t packing with Dis or Nori.

“I will create a diversion. I need all of you to make for the woods tonight. Hide yourself there until it is safe, then make for the Blue Mountains. Do not let them know where you got the gold.” It was amazing how quickly every single dwarrow stopped their work and turned to him.

“Uncle?” Kili’s voice was small and it reminded him of the night that Dis had been sold. He hesitated by the tent entrance.

“I do not intend to be captured, Khaham.” He gave a last lingering look to his dwarrows, his family. “Go now.  Irimish!” (make ready!) He barked the last word out to his dwarrows before claiming Bilbo’s lips in a quick, searing kiss. If he was to be taken tonight, he would see to it they were not taken together. He would make sure that Bilbo knew he was loved as well.

“I will return to you, âzyungel.” He stepped away from Bilbo and didn’t spare another glance to his dwarrows or beloved as he exited the tent. He could hear their muffled orders as they went about clearing what belongings they could. They had mere minutes before it would be too late. He could already hear the trees rustling from the approach.

“Lùchap!” (hurry) he barked out. He heard the whiney of a pony and prayed that it was Bilbo making his escape with Bofur and his brothers. The dwarf would not fail him. He would see Thorin’s hobbit safe. He focused on breathing, steady inhaling and exhaling as he flexed his hand around his blade. The sword had not failed him yet, its blade had held true through many fights. He hadn’t named it yet. It was a champion though, and surely worthy of the simple honor.

It was probably a bit odd to be thinking of what to name his sword while he awaited his captors. He would fight only to keep his people safe. Not to escape. His escape would mean they would search, and that would mean they could find his dwarrows.

His champion sword glistened despite the lack of moonlight, untainted and ready to defend him. Deathless. That is what he would name the sturdy blade.

The ground thundered with the approach of horses and Thorin barked the order for his dwarrows to exit out the back. Whatever they had it would have to be enough.

The horses appeared in the woods, riding hard and with elves dressed in gold. Smaug led the charge of seven, his long hair flowing behind himself. They didn’t have bows which boded well for Thorin. If he hugged the ground they would have to dismount to attack him.

“Elf kind!” He bellowed, his voice slicing through the night air with authority. “Have you come claim me?”

“You will come with us!” Smaug shrieked, his face twisting with fury as he rode nearer. His eyes were alight with fire.

“Then you will have to defeat me.”

They slipped from their  horses as one, and Thorin lunged into his attack. He swung deathless at the nearest elf and stepped back and to the side. He stomped down hard on the next dwarf while the first parried his blow and smashed into his leather boot. Thorin’s dwarf made boot tore the light shoe and the elf screeched in pain. He swung again and slammed his other arm back, elbowing the elf who’s foot he had just broken before bringing his foot back up and into the knee. He side swiped his sword at the next elf and though the blow was dodged he managed to kick out at another elf.

It was a nasty fight. Thorin had lived his entire life at a disadvantage, and he had been in a fair number of bar brawls.  He knew dirty tricks, and he used all that he had ever learned for survival against the tall elves. He lost his sword against Smaug but managed to take down his second in command. Blood that wasn’t only his own caked his under his nails and got in his mouth and he was grateful that his hair was short because it was harder for the elves to grab hold of while their long locks were an easy target.

He punched and kicked and tore and clawed and fought with all that he had, but he was outnumbered. He lost track of how many he managed to take down, but there were always more.

He was finally hit upside the head and fell to the ground. The remaining elves piled on top of him and held him down.

“You are ours, dwarf! Your plan to escape has failed!” The elf had no idea how wrong he was.

Smaug glowered down at Thorin, his face distorted and his nose dripping blood. “I’m curious, what was it you intended to do upon escaping? There are tens of thousands of us. Did you intend to change the world singlehandedly?

Thorin snorted. There was nothing left for it. He’d fought it valiantly but he was caught. He would be damned to join Melkor before he let this elf know he was defeated though. He leered up at Smaug.

“Singlehandedly? No. There’s at least a dozen of us.” The haughty elf snarled and brought the back of his hand across Thorin’s face. As if he actually had enough strength in his body to truly harm Thorin. He was a dwarf. Not some feeble tree lover. They were built for a hard life underground.

One of the other elves-a dark haired one with green eyes- came over and brought his sword hilt down across Thorin’s face.

He knew no more.


	12. Chapter 12

Prison, as it turned out, was not a terribly pleasant place. Thorin had expected it to be dark, dirty, loud, and painful, but the scent was not something he’d anticipated. It smelled like rot. Thorin had been in overly filled stables that smelled fresher.

On his first night he was given a tiny cell on the bottom level in the darkest corner of the dungeons. Calling it a cell was being generous as well. Thorin had been in linen closets that were more spacious. He could hardly stretch his hands out without hitting a wall. On the second night he was moved to the main holding area where several other men were chained to the wall. He was chained with his hands over his head and his feet were shackled to the wall.

He was not the only dwarf in the dungeons, which immensely saddened him, but he did not recognize any of them. His comrades had escaped at least.

His chest sang out in pain every time he hurt, and it promised bruised, if not broken, ribs. He had a broken nose and he was liberally covered in bruises. He was in such a bad state that one of the other prisoners had shied away from him when he was first chained up.

They came for him in the evenings. An elf guard with red hair and green eyes would unhook him from the chain over head and lead him upstairs. She was exceedingly gentle, which Thorin was grudgingly grateful for. She would take him to the ‘interrogation’ room which was really a torture chamber, and leave him with another guard and Smaug. Thorin was fairly certain that Smaug was not supposed to be torturing or interrogating Dale’s prisoners. He was a lord of the city and his disdain for Thorin was obvious enough that he put even the elf guard off.

Thorin never spoke. No matter what Smaug threw at him, Thorin did not utter a word. He would grunt in pain, and once screamed, but he never spoke.

After the sessions he would be taken back to the holding area and chained to the wall again. Tonight there had been a flogging.

“Will you speak now?” Smaug demanded. He leaned uncomfortably close to Thorin and his hot breath washed over Thorin’s face repulsively.

“Ishkh khakfe andu null.” Thorin growled out. He sucked in a bit of air-all his lungs could seem to manage and spat at the elf. Smaug reeled back in disgust before slapping him across the face. Thorin laughed darkly. “Stick to your tools,elf. I cannot feel your strength.”

“I will see you tomorrow, insolent pig.” He straightened up, his gold eyes flashing. “Do not forget, I will soon have your precious halfling!” Thorin grit his teeth and glared. He would not be baited so easily. Even if his chest roared and his heart demanded he flay this worm. “I think I will see how he enjoys being chained. He will certainly never see the sun again!” Smaug flaunted off with those words and Thorin finally let his legs go.

He dropped to the ground in agony. Thorin hadn’t even managed a scream when they flogged him. He’d barely been able to suck in any air at all, let alone actually make a sound.

Now his back felt raw and his vision was utterly hazy. Thorin vaguely wondered if he was about to taste death. His chest burned and he could feel blood flowing from the fire-like lashes on his back.

He couldn’t seem to get any air.

He had to get air. Bilbo needed his protection. He was supposed to be a hunter-the leopard. The protector of the Shire. His dwarrows were still hiding in the forest and he had to protect them as well. He had too many depending on him to simply collapse like this.

A cool, thin hand brushed across Thorin’s cheek and he barely had the energy to open his eyes. The redheaded guard looked down at him, her green eyes narrowed with worry.

“Amin tua” she said but Thorin couldn’t keep his eyes open. He struggled for breath before he fell forward into the dirt.

He couldn’t fight anymore.

=[]=[]=[]=

Fili was trying very hard not to lose it. His uncle was imprisoned and not being allowed visitors. His brother was in hysterics and his mother was hiding out from her owner. He had seven other dwarrows he was trying to keep safe as well, and they were being hunted by the guard of Dale.

Mirkwood had been easy enough to sneak into. They’d fled from the tent at Thorin’s order and found refuge in the forest. Balin had managed to pack all their gold, and Beorn had remained silent at their request. Bofur, Bifur and Bombur managed to escape with Bilbo (who they had actually had to gag) and he’d had no idea where they were.

He’d hoped they were safe. They needed to make sure Smaug didn’t get the hobbit. It would destroy Thorin.

It had taken two days for them to get any word from the hobbit and his dwarrows. They were staying with Prince Legolas. He wasn’t overly fond of Smaug or his father and would not tell anyone that the hobbit was residing with them.

They had enough money saved back to buy the tiny plot in the mountain that Thorin had wanted, but nothing extra. There was nothing for food or supplies.

And Fili had to lead.

The plan had taken him a few days to work out, namely because of the running, hiding, and trying to keep track of who all was with who. They’d split into three groups, with him, Balin, and Dis leading a group. Fili had Dwalin, Ori, and Gloin with him. Dis had Nori and Oin, while Balin had Kili and Dori.

It hurt splitting the families, but they were more likely to survive that way.

Now he was attempting to meet with Bofur to arrange a meeting with Bilbo. He had a crazy plan, but if it worked, it would prove a delightfully easy solution to the problem. A pleasant one as well.

“Thank Mahal,” Bofur breathed, appearing out of the trees so suddenly it would have startled Fili before the jousting. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

“I have a plan.” Fili cut in. He was not about to waste time while Thorin was in the dungeons. He gave Bofur a quick embrace, it was a surprising relief to see him alive and well, and stepped back. Bofur was at attention, ready to help in anyway he could. “It is a bit daring, but with some work, I think it will succeed.”

“Tell me.”

“I want Bilbo to marry Thorin.”

“How-” Fili held up his hand to silence Bofur’s question.

“They only need to speak their vows and perform the dance. They’ve completed both our courtships so we just have to figure out how to do a dance.”

“That seems like a pretty big hitch in the plan.” Bofur stated blandly.

“That’s where I have an idea.” He paused and released a sigh. “And where it gets dangerous.”

“I’ll do it, whatever the risk.” The hobbit’s soft voice drifted from the trees and he walked from the back of one. He had a cloak on, with a hood pulled over his head so that he wouldn’t be recognized. His eyes were wide, but certain. Fili felt a weight lift of his shoulders at the sight of him. He was unharmed. Thorin would be happy.

Bofur opened his mouth to interrupt but Bilbo took his hand and gave him a small smile. They spoke without words and Bofur’s shoulders sagged.

Fili’s heart soared with hope.

-[]-[]-[]-

There was a ginger dwarf that looked extremely familiar standing in front of Thorin. He was seated on the floor, thank Mahal, and had bandages wrapped all up his chest. The elf guard, Tauriel, had taken him to see a healer after Smaug’s session.

He’d had a punctured lung. It was a gift of Mahal that he was still breathing. He owed his life to an elf.

He wasn’t all that certain how he felt about that.

“Are you Thorin Oakenshield?” The ginger dwarf asked again. He was young, only sixty or seventy. Not even of age yet. He had a large, bushy beard that was braided and clamped with a silver bead that had leaves etched around it. He looked like someone Thorin knew, but his drug addled mind refused to make the connection.

“I am he.”

The dwarf brightened immensely and turned to look at the elf guard. She was smiling pleasantly and seemed to also know the ginger dwarf. Maybe he just had a familiar type of face. “Take him to the third questioning room. Not the interrogation chamber. My master wishes to speak with him.”

The elf knelt by Thorin’s side and touched his arm with light fingers. “Are you up to the journey?”

It was odd to be asked. Thorin was used to far more demanding elves. This one was almost… nice. That made two decent elves.

Thorin felt a bit like he’d been sat on by a troll, but he was curious. He had no idea who wanted to see him, but it might prove a chance of escape. He would take it. “I am well enough.” He looked at the dwarf. “Take me where you will.”

The dwarf regarded him with a heavy gaze. “Menu denapdul. (You are honorable)” He finally said. Thorin’s chest tightened at the sound of khuzdul.

“Men âkmînruk. (Thank you)” Tauriel helped him to stand and then the ginger dwarf- who still looked like someone Thorin knew- looped his arm around his waist and took half of Thorin’s weight. They led him to a small room and Tauriel left him with the dwarf. He motioned for Thorin to sit in one of the two chairs in the room and he did. The ginger dragged the other chair to the door and stood up on it so he could look out. He glanced over at Thorin and nodded his head in approval to see him sitting.

“You’ll need your strength.” he promised with an eager grin. Thorin’s heart sank. Even dwarrows were betraying him then. Well, the chair could act as a weapon at least.

The door opened after several long moments and a tall elf with a cloak and helmet on stepped into the room. He had the cloak drawn tight around his body and the helmet blocked his face. The elf let out a startled gasp the minute he entered the room and the ginger dwarf slammed the door shut and locked it tight, his eyes wide.

“Hush, laddie! Honestly. Do you want them to hear ye?”

“Sorry.”

Thorin nearly fell off his chair. He knew that voice, intimately. He dreamed of it at night and wished for it in the day. It kept insanity and despair at bay. It was sweeter than music and more soothing than any balm Balin or Oin could provide.

It was Bilbo’s.

Something of his shock and confusion must have shown on his face because the ginger dwarf grinned and made a motion in iglishmêk and the elf removed his cloak.

It wasn’t an elf at all. Fili was standing with Bilbo perched atop his shoulders and Thorin had to grip his chair to keep from falling.

He was surely going mad.

“Bilbo?” His voice was hoarse and the croak he made actually hurt. Bilbo’s eyes rose from his chest to look him in the face, and Thorin’s chest ached so much he couldn’t breathe. It was Bilbo. It was his hobbit. Here. How? How had his nephew (alive and unharmed!) and his beloved gotten in? What was going on?

“Are you-”  
“Sorry but you haven’t the time. I only guarantee ten minutes.” The ginger dwarf stated. He peered out the door and frowned. “Hurry.” Fili nodded his head and set Bilbo down.

“Right. Uncle, meet your betrothed. You two are about to get married.”

Thorin’s mind wasn’t working, and he didn’t think it was just the poppy juice now. He was clearly going mental. Fili and Bilbo had not just snuck into a dungeon so he could marry. Bilbo took his hand and Thorin’s mind stopped even trying to think. His nerves came alive and Thorin stumbled out of the chair to wrap the hobbit up in his left arm while he tugged Fili forward with the right. He embraced them both and breathed in their scents. He could feel the warmth of their skin and did not care that his own chest was burning in pain.

Fili returned the hug before tearing himself free. “Uncle! We only have a few moments, you have to marry Bilbo. I’ll explain later. It’s a plan to rescue you.”

Bilbo wiggled free as well and took both his hands. He knelt and Thorin joined him, still confused. “Simply repeat after me.” he ordered with a teary smile. “I,Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, take you, Bilbo Baggins to wed. I take you for now and always. Through sowing and harvest, ill and good, to love and cherish till death claims me. In the sight of father Eru and Maker Aule, I pledge my troth to you.” Thorin repeated the words, his voice wavering. Bilbo murmured the vow right back, replacing his name and Aule with Yavanna.

His eyes sparkled with light despite the fact that there was only one torch in the room. Thorin had never seen Bilbo look so incredible, and the hobbit that glowed with life and love was pledging and binding his heart and life to Thorin.

Bilbo pressed a quick, tender kiss to his lips before standing up and releasing Thorin’s left hand. He stepped closer, his smile so bright it made Thorin dizzy, and he tugged him nearer. Thorin went willingly and Bilbo giggled.

“You have to lead me in a dance now, yusith.” (husband) Thorin shuddered and drew Bilbo as close as he could. He was confused, overwhelmed, and in an unfair amount of pain, but he would go along with whatever this was happily. He was half convinced it was a dream anyway. Bilbo was too perfect. Too bright. His skin was deliciously warm and soft against Thorin’s bandage wrapped chest and his curls were lovelier than the finest silk.

“Wait!” Fili exclaimed. He reached into the cloak and pulled out two slightly damaged flower crowns. He perched them on top of Thorin and Bilbo’s head and stepped back with a grin. Thorin watched him retreat with a raised eyebrow before looking back at the blond that had burgled his heart away.

He spun the hobbit around in lazy circles and rested his cheek against the top of his silky head. If this was a dream he wished never to wake. Nothing else would be as kind, as perfect. Reality would come for him soon, and he would once again be bleeding in the dark dirt. For now he’d just hold the soft warmth and dream of being free again.

-[]-[]-[]-

“I’m still confused.” Kili declared out loud. He stopped pacing and Bofur thanked Mahal for that at least. He was being driven to distraction by the dwarf’s panic. He was panicking enough for himself, thank you very much, he didn’t need Kili’s manic as well.

“Bilbo is marrying your uncle.”

“I got that, funny enough.” Kili frowned and sat down next to Dori. “I don’t get why.”

“Aside from the fact that they’re smitten with each other.”

“Obviously.” Bofur felt it was probably only great restraint that kept the dwarf from sticking his tongue out like a dwarfling.

“Because of three reasons. One, being married to Thorin protects Bilbo from being claimed by Smaug’s hand. He is now off the market. Two, Bilbo is becoming Thorin’s wife, that’s necessary. Three, Thorin should now have power to be set free. At least to be taken to a nicer dungeon.”

“Because he’s marrying Bilbo? Why?”

Bofur sighed and tried not to lose his patience. These dwarrows hadn’t grown up in court. They hadn’t had to breathe and navigate this boring and complicated stuff since they were children.

“As a ‘wife’ Bilbo is now Thorin’s. All he has, land, titles, status, it passes to Thorin’s control. Thorin now has the lands, titles, and status. Biblo is the richest hobbit in the Shire. He owns the grandest estate in the land, and he has a ruling seat on the council. Thorin has that now. He has political influence.”

“But I thought his guardian wouldn’t allow the wedding.”

“He wouldn’t, under normal circumstances. That’s where the risk is. He can go against Bilbo on this and deny him everything…” Bofur dropped his gaze to the bracelet on his wrist. It was a leather band with a simple elvish rune on it. It served as a mark of who ‘owned’ him, and a warning to whom any that might harm would have to face. “But I don’t think he will. He loves Bilbo, and wants his happiness above all else. He knows how dwarrows work. He knows that Thorin cannot love anyone else like he loves Bilbo. He knows that he will be faithful and give up his own life to protect Bilbo’s.”

“Then why didn’t he just let them marry earlier?” Kili insisted. Balin set a hand on his shoulder to calm him.

Bofur huffed in frustration. “Because there was no need! Bilbo gets nothing of ‘real’ value out of this union. He loses everything to Thorin simply because he ‘loves’ him. His guardian would be quite happy to just let Bilbo keep meeting Thorin for private dalliances. He doesn’t have to marry him to be with him. Even after a political marriage he would have been fine with them carrying on an illicit affair. Bilbo is a valuable trading commodity. We’re playing with a lot of politics here.” Bofur swallowed thickly and clenched his fist. There was another fear, but the didn’t want to voice it, not yet. Thorin could be killed and Bilbo would be free to marry again. It was an extremely dangerous game they were playing.

It was all going to depend on Gandalf’s reaction to his ward’s marriage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several important players introduced in this chapter. We're gearing up for the end!


	13. Chapter 13

Thranduil’s palace was large and open, but it was very much private. The woodland elves were not overly fond of intruders, and they were extremely fond of Bilbo. As far as Bofur was concerned it had been a match made in heaven. He’d managed to find a room to fit all of Thorin’s dwarrows (with surprisingly little wheedling) and now he was happy to have them all together.

Urgency rushed through Bofur’s veins as he hurried down the halls. He had very little time to act before everything was over. Their carefully laid plans would all be for nothing in another two days.

Blast it he hated all the stairs.

The edict had arrived by raven ten minutes ago. Tauriel had sent it with a lock of Thorin’s hair for Bilbo. The dwarf was still alive for the moment. She was playing a dangerous game by helping them but her loyalties had never been to the lords of Dale. She was born in the green forest of Mirkwood and it was there that her heart laid. Bilbo had understood the longing for her home in her heart and they’d struck up a swift friendship. Now she was risking her very life to help him.

Bilbo had a lure to elves the same way that Thorin had a lure to dwarrows.

Bofur, finally reaching the chamber he wanted, burst into the room with a bang and shout, abruptly awaking the many dwarrows littered throughout it. Dwalin was the first up, followed by Fili. They both stepped in front of another dwarf, Dwalin in front of Ori and Fili in front of Kili. Dwalin held a hammer and Fili a sword.

It would have made him tease last week. Right now it was just nice to know that some members of the Company were already armed.

“No time for that!” Bofur insisted. His heart was beating too quickly and dwarrows were too slow to wake up. They had to get going or everything they’d done would be for nothing. Thorin would be dead and Bilbo would be heartbroken.

“What are you talking about, lad, no time for what?”

“Smaug is bloody well on his way here and he’s sentenced Thorin to be hung!” Every single one of the thirteen dwarrows in the room were now standing, and they all looked murderous.

Thirteen? Bofur did a quick head count and realized they’d gained a ginger dwarf when he was not looking. There seemed to be another everytime he looked. It was getting a bit ridiculous. Thorin had fourteen dwarrows now, not including himself. That was fifteen dwarrows and a hobbit in this ridiculous company. They were mad, every last one of them.  

And Bofur was getting distracted.

“Someone told Smaug that Bilbo was gathering the rights to his lands together. Smaug is trying to act before Thorin has a chance to be announced!” The colorful variety of curses that filled the air would have made Bofur laugh on a different day. As was he just nodded his head and pushed on. “He will be killed at the foot of Erebor after they’ve publicly shaved him and humiliated him-”

“We need weapons.” Fili interrupted. “We’ll have to free him before he can be taken.”

“That won’t be possible. Smaug will have every elf available there to guard him.”

“We cannot just let him die!”

“No.” Balin’s voice was low and slow, and he had a weary frown on his face. He leaned heavily on Dis. “We will go to him, and we will stand by his side no matter what end. If we can, we will fight.” He glanced at the others. “I’m afraid it will make us all marked dwarrows.”  

“We’ve been marked since we were born.” Ori replied. He moved closer to Dwalin and took the large dwarf’s hand. “We joined Thorin knowing it would likely not end well.” It was touching to see the obvious loyalty among the dwarrows, but there really was no time. They had to move quickly. Dale was a good, hard day and night’s ride away.

“Which is why I’m going to take Bilbo to into the stables. Nori, I’ll likely be needing your expertise.” The star haired dwarf with a quick smile came up to Bofur’s side. “Everyone else, make ready.”

“Why Bilbo?” Fili demanded. Bofur repressed the urge to huff. Did the dwarf really think he wouldn’t have Bilbo’s best interest at heart? Bilbo had been his best friend since he was a child.

“Because hobbits are extremely charming and very gifted at sneaking past peoples of all races unseen.” And the hobbit would flay each and everyone of them if they tried to stop him from helping in anyway. He was the only person in their company with something like diplomatic immunity. Right now the hobbit was simply laying in his room utterly heartbroken. Bofur hadn’t been able to make him leave for the last two days. He had nothing to do and he was pining for the dwarf he loved who would likely never be free. Bilbo wasn’t even eating. If they were too late… if Thorin died without Bilbo… Bilbo would despair. Bofur would do almost anything to keep the hobbit from despairing. He was as close to Bofur as Bombur and Bifur were. The hobbit had been a loyal friend and had never hesitated to offer his help in anyway he could. Bofur would do no less.

The door swung open behind him and a procession of three elves entered. Bofur immediately dropped into a bow at the leading elf.

“We haven’t much time.” Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood declared. His eyes glided around the room, pausing longest on the ginger dwarf. “I have a way to save your kin, if you will but aid me.”

Fili shared a glance with Dis and Balin before looking back at the elf prince. “Talk quickly.”

-[]-[]-[]-

Thorin’s feet were killing him. It was bad enough to be forced into stocks, but to be forced into stocks that weren’t for elves and were far too tall for him was a new kind of cruel. He had to stand on the very tip of his feet to keep from choking and his legs burned with the ache of it.

He wasn’t focusing on it right now. He could hear a commotion rising from the far side of the camp, and his sleep deprived, pain damaged, and drug addled mind couldn’t make out what it was. It sounded like thunder, but it was too close and too loud. The sky was star filled as well, without a cloud in sight. The stock shook around his neck and Thorin tried to use his arms to push himself up.

Hooves. The noise was hooves. Horses were riding to the camp.

Thorin craned his head to try and see better and slipped. His throat collided with the bottom bar of wood and he started to hack violently. His foot slipped and he started to strangle himself. He fought to regain a foot hold but his feet would not grab the ground and his arms were shaking with the effort to pull himself up.

A strong arm wrapped around his waist and hauled him back up. He coughed, his throat abused and his lungs burning. His vision was a blurry mess and he was quite certain that he had almost strangled himself. Another hand stroked his back while yet another grabbed his legs and hauled him further up. The ache in his shoulders lessened and he finally found himself able to properly breathe.

“Thorin,” the voice, achingly familiar, sounded as if it had been repeated multiple times. Thorin still couldn’t see properly.

“Dis?”

“He’s alive.” His sister’s voice was laced with relief and Thorin shuddered at the sound of it. He was going mad, surely, but he welcomed it. More voices filled the air, ones he recognized and ones full of rage. Something was shoved under his feet for him to stand on properly, and hands were stroking him all over his back and arms.

What was going on?

Smaug’s roar raged through the camp, silencing all the other voices in the air as elves started to march from their tents. Dwarrows surrounded Thorin’s stock and his heart sank as he realized all of them had come for him. A light hand brushed his cheek and Thorin’s head snapped to the left. Bilbo looked at him, with eyes that were full of tears.

No! They couldn’t be here! Smaug would kill his dwarrows as well and force Bilbo to remain with him! This was the very reason he had allowed himself to be caught. They could not be in danger!

The dwarrows and hobbit formed a barrier around Thorin and Smaug stopped short seeing it. He sneered and his gold eyes lit with malicious fire. “So, you have come to die with your vagabond? Touching.”

A blinding flash of light lit the campsite and a strange whooshing noise rang around Thorin before it settled into an eerie stillness. He blinked the brightness from his eyes and looked around to see as strange, shimmering, blue light now surrounded him and his dwarrows. Bilbo gasped at his side and a glance revealed that the hobbit was smiling through the tears that still ran down his cheek.

‘Gandalf.’ He mouthed and then his gaze turned to Thorin’s and the dwarf didn’t know what to make of the hope in his Sanzeuh’s eyes.

“Stay this madness!” Another blinding flash of light and then there was an elderly man clothed in white striding up to stand in front of Thorin. His grey eyes were wise and the air seemed to move with power around him. “What gives you, Smaug, the right to do this?”

“He has fought in a joust by pretending to be a man. The punishment for such a crime has been ruled death.” Smaug’s eyes grew colder and he drew himself up to his full height. His hair flashed in the fire light.

“Authority is not given to you to determine if this dwarf is worthy of death. Thorin Oakenshield claimed to be of noble title, and he is.”

Smaug’s laugh was loud and harsh, more a snarl than anything. “He is a dwarf, he has no nobility in him. He has not achieved any titles.”

“He is a Lord of the Shire.” The ground crackled as Gandalf took a step forward. “You dare to discredit that?”

“That union was not made until after the crime.” Bilbo’s hand found Thorin’s and he clenched the small fingers as tightly as he could. It was getting harder to think. His chest was roaring from the pain of his ribs, and he was losing feeling in his arms. Everything was starting to get fuzzy around the edges.

“They completed their courtship on the eve of Mirkwood’s tournament. They were bonded as husband and wife that night by the tradition of the Shire. Thorin became Lord of Bag End.”

“Which means,” another figure said, stepping into the fire light, “that his crime is not against you.” The elf pushed his green hood off his face and revealed himself to be the knight that Thorin had fought twice. The hidden royalty. “Let my prisoner be brought forth.”

Tauriel stepped up to them and Kili let her pass. She opened the lock and popped the top bar of the stocks off. Fili looped his arm around Thorin and helped him down from the stock. He couldn’t feel his arms and his legs refused to hold any of his weight. His nephew helped him walk to Legolas and then he sank to the ground, ready to accept his fate. Whatever it was. He met Legolas’ eyes and squared his shoulder.

He would not beg.

Legolas’ eyes drifted to glance at the ginger haired dwarf standing by Gloin. The same dwarf who had helped him in the dungeons. He looked remarkably like Gloin.

The dwarf and elf shared a lingering look before Legolas’ eyes returned to stare into Thorin’s. “I do not believe that your kind are beneath us. Indeed, you seem our equals in all but height. You are our superiors in strength, and you have unmatched skill with rock and stone.” He knelt in front of Thorin so that he could more easily look into his eyes. “And you are a lord in the Shire. For the love your dwarrows bear you, I would grant you clemency. For the care that my mela holds for you, I will grant you far more.” The elf stood up and stepped back, his eyes lighting with intent. He beheld the crowd with a dark gaze.

“Peoples of Dale, Mirkwood, and the Shire, hear my voice! I declare this dwarf, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thrain, to be free of his crimes! Furthermore, in honor of what he has done for me, I declare him a knight of my realm. Where he goes, the protection of me and my kin follow.” He drew a thin, curved blade from a scabbard at his side and pressed the tip of it against Thorin’s shoulder. “Rise Sir Thorin. Rise and go with the highest honors.”

Smaug's bellow filled the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did NOT want to get written. At all. I have fought it tooth and nail and I still dislike it but I'm posting the bloody thing anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

_“I thought up an ending for my book: ‘_

_And he lives happily ever after, till the end of his days.’_

_-Bilbo_

* * *

 

Thorin lay with his cheek against the pillow and relished the warmth of Bilbo’s hands on his shoulders. The hobbit’s touch was perfect and soothing and full of the love he’d been longing for. His head was clear and pain free for the first time in far too long, and the soft brush of the cotton against his skin was delicious.

Being a knight had perks. The room was lovely but all Thorin really needed was the bed and hobbit. He’d been ushered away by several elves and dwarrows before Gandalf had tended to him. The horrible burning in his chest had subsided and he’d promptly fallen asleep.

There had been a lot of explaining when he’d woken up. They’d traveled from Dale to Mirkwood while he’d been unconscious, and the elven Prince had given each of his dwarrows a private room.

He was married to Bilbo. His hobbit had signed over all his lands and titles to Thorin, as a wife. He had essentially sold himself to Thorin. It nearly made him ill to think of his beloved lowering himself to such a place for Thorin.

His dwarrows had arranged for Legolas to free him and the elf had agreed because of the kindness he’d shown him during their matches, and because Gloin’s son, Gimli, was a servant in his household. Though, judging by the looks they’d exchanged earlier they were friends at the least. Thorin was a knight now. He had status. He had land. He had gold to buy a home.

He was _free._

Everything they had worked for could be achieved. They would leave Mirkwood in the morning and head to the Shire. There they would buy the land in the Blue Mountains, Ered Luin, and start building a kingdom for his fellow dwarrows. They would buy more as they could afford it, and they would have a place where any dwarf could come. A land they could call their own.

“I love you,” Bilbo whispered against his ear, his fingers digging into a particularly stubborn knot as he spoke. “I thought I was going to lose you.”

“Sanzeuh,” Thorin moaned, his hands clenching in the sheets. Bilbo straddled Thorin’s back so he could better massage him. “My Sanzeuh…” He felt like all the tension from the last weeks was being drained from his body. He’d been far tenser than he’d realized. Though, he’d never actually had a massage before, so who knew how long he’d been carrying the knots.

“So, my lord,” Thorin stiffened, all the relaxation he’d been feeling was gone. He didn’t want to be Bilbo’s lord. Bilbo’s hands paused on his shoulder and Thorin turned his head to look at his hobbit. Bilbo was smiling slightly. “Yes, you’re my Lord.”

“I do not want to be.” Bilbo shook his head. He lowered his body onto Thorin’s back and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder.

“Thorin… I have been tied with land all my life.” He continued pressing kisses against Thorin’s neck and back as he rubbed his muscles. “I have been pursued for what I have, not for who I am. I am lands in the Shire and position with the most powerful istari in Middle Earth. Property to be sold to the highest bidder. I often had nightmares about being buried alive, I feared becoming consumed with the land _so much_. I’ve always imagined I would be locked in a loveless union and treated as nothing more than a slave to do my masters bidding.” He sighed wistfully and pushed up Thorin’s body so that his face was next to Thorin’s. The dwarf couldn’t look away. Bilbo’s eyes were so large and expressive and full of so much love.

“I fell in love with someone who had _no idea_ who or what I was. You, Thorin Oakenshield, have always _seen me._ ” He brushed a finger down Thorin’s cheek, the digit catching against the stubble of his beard. “And I had the power, the _pleasure_ of being able to use the only thing I’ve ever been seen for to aid you.” He brushed a feather light kiss against the spellbound dwarf’s lips. “I had never been worth anything but a home, and you had been everything but a home. I am so honored to have you as my lord.”

“Make love to me.” Thorin breathed the words out with an urgency he’d never felt. He was burning up with need and he just wanted to wrap the hobbit in his arms. He didn’t want to be over Bilbo. He wanted to be his equal. He’d only ever wanted to be peoples equals.

Bilbo drew back, surprise lighting his face. “Wh-what?”

Thorin pushed up on his arm and tilted his body so he could look at his husband. (And that made him feel giddy all over) “Make love to me.”  Bilbo’s mouth popped open.

“But I’m… I’m your wi-”

“You are my husband and I want to be fully taken by you.” He laid his hand on Bilbo’s knee. “I want to be fully yours. I wish us to be equals in everything, Sanzeuh. Please do not deny me this.”

Bilbo’s lips on his were a bit of a surprise. A very welcome surprise, but a surprise none the less. It was soft and languorous and Thorin was sinking back into the bed with Bilbo on top of him. Bilbo’s hands were gliding over him and he found himself moaning as everything got hotter.

He felt like he was _burning._

Bilbo kept kissing him and stroking him, his ministrations making Thorin arch and whine and nearly beg with the need for more. More touch, more friction-until he felt Bilbo’s finger, slick with oil, trailing down his spine. Suddenly the thing he wanted more of was being filled. He’d never been filled, never wanted it. But the thought of Bilbo filling him... Bilbo’s fingers, his cock… Sweet Mahal, he ached with the want of it.

Bilbo, seeming to understand Thorin’s frantic desire, slipped one finger down his buttocks. Thorin cried out and thrust his hips back, not expecting the sensation to be so intense. Bilbo paused above him and Thorin froze, wide eyed and blinking at the pillow. His head was dizzy and he was already panting. Bilbo trailed the finger back over his hole and Thorin couldn’t stop his thighs from trembling, or the soft whine from slipping out of his throat.

Bilbo pressed a kiss to the back of Thorin’s neck and his lips were like a cool balm on the overheated flesh. Thorin let out another whine and Bilbo kissed up to his ear before sucking on the lobe. Thorin’s toes curled and he arched his back up into Bilbo’s smooth chest. Bilbo trailed his tongue up the shell of Thorin’s ears and, when the dwarf shivered, he slipped his finger inside. He only pushed into the first joint but Thorin still jerked and clenched around it. Bilbo pressed a kiss into the nape of his neck and stroked his spine.

It was quite possibly the strangest sensation Thorin had ever felt. Physically it was just bizarre, a sensation he’d never experienced. Mentally… it was incredible. There was a part of Bilbo inside Thorin, as close as he could get before the final act. Bilbo began to move the finger and the drag was delightful. It was like an itch that needed to be scratched. Bilbo continued to thrust his finger in and out and Thorin moved his right hand off the sheet to grab at Bilbo’s leg. He stroked the thigh his hand found and gripped the bed frame as tightly as he could in the other.

Bilbo mouthed at his back, murmuring into his skin and another finger was added. Thorin looked over his shoulder and had to press his cheek into the pillow at the sight of Bilbo. He was laying at Thorin’s side, his chest plastered to Thorin’s back. His cheek was pressed against Thorin’s shoulder blade and he was panting desperately as his fingers pumped in and out of Thorin. The sensation was od-

Thorin swore violently and lifted up off the bed. It nearly cracked under the pressure his hand was exerting on it and he could feel Bilbo smiling against his back. The halfling continued to press against the gland he’d found and Thorin made a noise that he would never admit to.  A third finger was added and Thorin needed this to move along a little faster. He was not going to last.

“Enough!” Thorin tried to bark, but his voice was entirely too ragged. Bilbo stilled and frowned. “No more preparation. Take me. Now.”

“No,” Bilbo insisted, working his fingers more, stretching them apart and barely brushing his prostate. Thorin couldn’t get enough air.”You’re still too tight, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You will not. I want to feel you now.” A shiver ran up his spine as Bilbo gave him a particularly hard thrust. The fingers pulled out and Thorin was shocked by how empty he felt. Bilbo moved over his back and there was smooth skin against his thighs. A moment later and there was a hot, thick, blunt pressure against him, and then his hobbit was pressing inside. Bilbo gasped and swore-something Thorin had never heard, but he couldn’t think because Bilbo was pressing inside him and it was so much larger than the fingers but Thorin just wanted more of it. The burn was something he craved. It made it more real, and promised a reminder long after their union was over. Aching proof that he was wed to Bilbo.

Thorin squirmed, needing Bilbo to move. “Don’t!” His hobbit nearly squeaked, “I-I can’t-”

“Then don’t.” Thorin growled, squirming again. It was hard, thick heat, deep inside and sweet Mahal-

Bilbo moved and continued moving and Thorin forgot what common tongue was. He breathed in khuzdul, unable to do anything but scramble for a hold and push back. His hobbit gasped and mumbled, adoration and swears mixed up as he pumped in and out of Thorin’s body. He had an arm wrapped around Thorin’s middle and the dwarf clutched at it, needing something to anchor him past the swell of emotion and pleasure as Bilbo hit his prostate with occasional teasing thrust. It made the pleasure come in sharp burst and Thorin needed Bilbo’s hand. Needed it more than air. (Which he wasn’t getting anyway.)

He hadn’t thought he could ever have this again. Hadn’t thought he would ever be wed to Bilbo and had despaired of ever being allowed to hold his hand before he died, let alone actually make love.The scent of Bilbo was thick around him and the feel of him on top of him, around him, in him, was everything Thorin had desperately needed and wanted.

“Come on,” Bilbo pleaded, his hand closing around Thorin’s cock. The hand was so much softer than his, and he’d slicked it with the oil. He gave him quick, tight strokes and Thorin’s back arched. He came with a shout that left his voice hoarse and light blinded his vision. Bilbo kept thrusting, keening high in his throat and running his hands all over Thorin’s chest and side. “Thorin,” he panted, chanting the dwarf’s name before he thrust in hard and stayed as deep as he could. He shuddered against Thorin and the dwarf sucked in a large lungful of air as Bilbo came inside him. He could feel him deep and warm and pulsing and the shocking warmth and wetness.

Thorin couldn’t hold himself up any longer, his legs felt like jelly and his heart was racing. He collapsed onto the mattress and Bilbo went down beside him, his arms still wrapped firmly around Thorin’s chest.

“Neither of us is greater than the other.” Thorin managed, his throat dry and useless. “You are my equal, Sanzeuh, and I am yours. You are a lord as well, my Ghivashel.”

-[]-[]-[]-

A year later found Thorin riding with his husband, Dwalin, Ori, Bofur, and his nephews. It had been a long two months and the longing he felt for his home was like an actual physical pain. The tournament had been fun, but he was not certain he would return the following year. He enjoyed Ered Luin far too much to find pleasure elsewhere.

It was coming along beautifully. The mountain was vast and largely unclaimed. Its interior was nearly unexplored and the lure of its hidden secrets was a call that no dwarf seemed capable of resisting. Dwarrows had started appearing days after they bought the land. They’d had well over a hundred when he’d left for the tournament.

The mountain sheltered his people and they tended to her with tenderness as they revealed her beauty to all.

The Shire welcomed them with a large feast (as Hobbits always welcomed guest, with lots of food and ale.) Bag-End was well looked after by the Gamgee’s and the soft beds had been a welcome change from the ground they’d been sleeping on. They stayed one night before continuing onto the Blue Mountains and Ered Luin.

They set up camp on the mountain pass and set up a roaring fire. They would be home tomorrow evening. Bofur started playing a song on his tin whistle, and Dwalin joined in with his violin. Fili and Kili sang at the top of their lungs and danced around the fire, pulling Ori in with them.

Thorin watched the procession with a tired smile from his spot by the tents. Bilbo sat in front of him, humming softly while Thorin brushed through his locks. He twisted braids into the locks, clasping them with wooden and metal beads in the shape of flowers.

“The Leopard is over head, Sir Hunter.” Bilbo murmured, his voice curling into the air like the smoke from the fire.

“So it is,” Thorin tilted his head up and studied the night sky. The stars were shining brightly. He tugged the last of Bilbo’s braids and let the hobbit push him back onto their shared bedroll. He tucked an arm behind his head and Bilbo propped himself against Thorin’s chest so he could look at the night sky.

“How does it feel to be returning as tournament champion?”

Thorin’s laugh rumbled through his chest, filling him with giddy delight. That was something he hadn’t quite grown used to. How easy it was to laugh or smile. For a long time Fili and Kili had been the only ones who could coax a rare smile from him. He grinned daily now, and laughed far more often.

It came with feeling safe. With feeling warm.

“Good, Sanzeuh. It feels good.”

Bilbo mumbled something into Thorin’s chest before pulling back the tiniest bit. “Mmm, I’m glad. Did I tell you how much I liked your new crest?”

Thorin felt light enough to fly. “Well, the constellation was what got me that first kiss. I wouldn’t have found the courage otherwise. It seemed only appropriate that the stars of the Leopard should decorate our flags.”

“You are just a sap.” Bilbo declared with a yawn. He shifted on the bed roll. “It will be nice to be in a bed tomorrow. The tournament was lovely and everything, but I miss our home.”

Their home.

He was returning as champion, having soundly beat all his opponents, including Smaug. It had been extremely nice to enter as a dwarf. Bilbo had stood by his side and cheered, flaunting the wedding band outrageously any time the elf drew near. Bofur, Fili and Kili had even set up a firework display on the last night that showed a leopard devouring a dragon-the symbol of Smaug’s house. He had turned a fiery red and left the feast in a huff.

It had been extremely satisfying.

The light, fuzzy feeling thrummed through Thorin’s body. He gazed at the stars, imagining his return to his home. They would probably have more dwarrows. They had enough winnings from the tournament to buy the freedom of several more dwarrows. The halls would be lit with torches light and the precious stones would glitter like the night sky. Thorin nearly felt like he could float up to the night sky. That if he truly wanted to he could fly off into the dark like a shooting star. He could do anything if he tried hard enough.

He and his company had changed their stars after all. What could be harder than that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it, folks! Thanks for reading my crazy tale! I hope you all enjoyed it :)


End file.
